Father of mercies, thy children have wandered
Far from thy bosom, their home;
Most of their portion of goods they have squandered;
Farther and farther they roam.
We are thy children, and we have departed
To the lone country afar,
We would arise, we come back broken-hearted;
Take us back just as we are.
Not for the ring or the robe we entreat thee,
Nor for high place at the feast;
Only to see thee, to touch thee, to greet thee,
Ranked with the last and the least.
But for thy mercy we dare not accost thee,
But for thy Son who has come
Seeking his brothers who left thee and lost thee,
Seeking to gather them home.
Father of mercies, thy holiness awes us;
Yet thou dost wait to receive!
Jesus, the light of thy countenance charms us,
Father of him, we believe.
Back in the home of thy heart, may we labor
Others to bring from the wild,
Counting each creature that needs us our neighbor,
Claiming each soul as thy child.
--Robert F. Horton.