Turn, child of doubt, estranged from God!

To error’s joyless waste betrayed;

No light will there illume thy road,

No friendly voice will give thee aid.

O, turn, and leave that cheerless waste!

The shade of death,—the maze of woe!

There is a path that leads to rest,

A fount of life is given below.

Thy friend, thy Lord, from heaven revealed,

The lost, the erring, to recall,

That sacred fountain hath unsealed;

With voice of love he speaks to all.

He bids the dying wanderer turn,

To walk in duty’s way, and live;

He speaks to wounded souls that mourn,

He speaks,—to heal and to forgive.