Christ in His hea­ven­ly gar­den walks all day,
And calls to souls up­on the world’s high­way;
Wearied with tri­fles, maimed and sick with sin,
Christ by the gate stands, and in­vites them in.

“How long, un­wise, will ye pur­sue your woe?
Here from the throne sweet wa­ters ever go:
Here the white lil­ies shine like stars above:
Here in the red rose burns the face of love.

“’Tis not from earth­ly paths I bid you flee,
But light­er in My ways your feet will be:
’Tis not to sum­mon you from hu­man mirth,
But add a depth and sweet­ness not of earth.

“Still by the gate I stand as on ye stray:
Turn your steps hi­ther: am not I the Way?
The sun is fall­ing fast; the night is nigh:
Why will ye wan­der? Where­fore will ye die?

Look on My hands and side, for I am He:
None to the Fa­ther com­eth, but by Me:
For you I died; once more I call you home:
I live again for you: My child­ren, come!