Thy Father Is Waiting

My son

dost thou dwell in a coun­try afar

Away from thy youth’s bea­con light?

Above thee is shin­ing fair Beth­le­hem’s star

To guide thy steps home­ward to­night.

Oh

come and thy sor­row shall cease;

Oh come and find par­don and peace;

Thy Fa­ther is wait­ing to wel­come thee home

Is wait­ing

O wan­der­er

come.

My son

art thou hun­gry with no one to care

Or help in thy bit­ter dis­tress?

Thy Father’s hired serv­ants have bread and to spare;

Return

and thy wan­d’ring con­fess.

My son

art thou wea­ry of bond­age to sin?

The door of thy home is ajar;

Thy Fa­ther is yearn­ing His lost one to win

He se­eth thee com­ing afar.

My son

He is rea­dy with robe and with ring

The to­kens that thou art for­giv’n.

Oh

claim thy in­her­it­ance

child of the King

And share in the rich­es of Heav’n.