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Above the keening of the wind, above the pattering rain, Year after year a voice I hear that calls, as yet, in vain - "Come home, dear one, come home! it cries; We echo the Master's call. There is bread and wine for the Feast Divine And lighted candles tall. To ring the bells of Hea'nly joy the shining Angels wait; And we anxious grow who love you so - For the hour is getting late. The Shepherd looks out for this favourite lamb Who left the flock to roam, And a mother prays in a hundred ways That her darling may soon come home. |
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