Brethren, while we so­journ here,
Fight we must, but should not fear;
Foes we have, but we’ve a friend,
One that loves us to the end.
Forward then with cour­age go,
Long we shall not dwell be­low;
Soon the joy­ful news will come,
Child, your Fa­ther calls—Come home!

In the way a thou­sand snares
Lie, to take us un­aw­ares;
Satan, with ma­li­cious art,
Watches each un­guard­ed part:
But, from Sa­tan’s ma­lice free,
Saints shall soon vic­to­ri­ous be;
Soon the joy­ful news will come,
Child, your Fa­ther calls—Come home!

But, of all the foes we meet,
None so oft mis­lead our feet,
None be­tray us in­to sin,
Like the foes that dwell with­in.
Yet let no­thing spoil your peace,
Christ will also con­quer these;
Then the joy­ful news will come,
Child, your Fa­ther calls—Come home!