Come home, come home, backslidden soul,
Why will you feed on air,
Since you may have substantial food,
And heavenly blessings share. O now repent, return and come,
Your Father's house is free;
There's bread enough for every one,
You need not hungry be. Come, burdened soul, to Jesus come,
With all your guilt and stain,
He'll make the wounded spirit whole,
You need not come in vain. Come, leave your burden at his feet,
He'll for your help appear;
Bring but a humble, contrite heart,
And you have naught to fear. Erect the sacred altar, prayer.
Let faith the fuel be,
And leave thyself an offering there,
In meek humility. If, Peter-like, you seem to sink,
Beneath temptation's wave;
'Tis Jesus bids you come to him,
And 'tis his arm will save. Camden, Me., Sept. 24th, 1858