"Come!" 'tis Jesus gently calling,
"Ye with care and toil oppressed,
With your guilt howe'er appalling—
Come, and I will give you rest."
For your sin He "once has suffered,"
On the cross the work was done,
And the word by God now uttered
To each weary soul is "Come!"
"Come!" the Father's house stands open,
With its love and light and song;
And returning to that Father,
All to you may now belong.
From sin's distant land of famine,
Toiling neath the midday sun,
To a Father's house of plenty,
And a Father's welcome, "Come!"
"Come!" for night is gathering quickly
O'er the world's fast-fleeting day;
If you linger till the darkness
You will surely miss your way.
And still waiting—sadly waiting,
Till the day its course has run,
With His patience unabating
Jesus lingers for you—"Come!"
"Come!" for angel hosts are musing
O'er this sight so strangely sad:
God "beseeching"—man refusing
To be made forever glad!
From the world and its delusion
Now our voices rise as one;
While we shout God's invitation,
Heaven itself reechoes "Come!"