O, weary wanderer,
Thy Savior bids thee come;
Thou long in sin hast loved to roam,
But still He loves thee—come.
Think of thy Father’s house today,
Think of its plenteous store;
Think of thy sinful, wandering way,
Then come, and roam no more.
Poor prodigal, come home and rest,
Come and be reconciled;
Thy Father’ll clasp thee to His breast—
He loves His wandering child.