O word, of words the sweetest,

O word, in which there life,

All promise, all fulfillment,

And end of mystery!

Lamenting, or rejoicing,

With doubt or terror nigh,

I hear the “Come” of Jesus,

And to His cross I fly.

O soul! why shouldst thou wander

From such a loving Friend?

Cling closer, closer to Him,

Stay with Him to the end.

Alas! I am so helpless,

So very full of sin,

For I am ever wandering

And coming back again.

Oh, each time draw me nearer,

That soon the “Come” may be

Naught but a gentle whisper

To one close, close to Thee.

Then, over sea and mountain,

Far from or near my home,

I’ll take Thy hand and follow

At that sweet whisper, “Come”.