Come, said Jesus' sacred voice, Come and make my paths your choice. I will guide you to your home, Weary pilgrim, hither come. Thou who, houseless, sole, forlorn, Long hast borne the proud world's scorn, Long hast roamed the barren waste, Weary pilgrim, hither haste. Ye who, tossed on beds of pain, Seek for ease, but seek in vain; Ye, by fiercer anguish torn, In remorse for guilt who mourn. Hither come, for here is found Balm that flows for every wound, Peace that ever shall endure, Rest eternal, sacred, sure.
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