Return, O wan­der­er, to thy home,
Thy Fa­ther calls for thee;
No longer now an ex­ile roam,
In guilt and mi­se­ry:
Return, re­turn!

Too long the loath­some fields of sin
Thy fruit­less toil have known:
No whole­some bread! no voice of kin!
No home to call thine own!
Return, re­turn!

Thy Fa­ther stands with out­stretched hands,
He gave His Son for thee:
Poor soul, from sin’s en­thrall­ing bands
He longs to see thee free.
Return, re­turn!

Arise, stand up and home­ward turn,
No long­er dwell apart;
His migh­ty love will ne­ver spurn
One hum­ble con­trite heart.
Return, re­turn!

Our Fa­ther’s house is full of bliss,
And there is room for all;
He wel­comes with for­giv­ing kiss:
O, hear His lov­ing call!
Return, re­turn!

The feast of joys awaits thee there,
The pre­cious robe and ring;
O haste Thy Fa­ther’s gifts to share,
O haste His praise to sing:
Return, re­turn!