In our Savior's precious Name;
We, Thy children, here assembled,
Now Thy promised blessing claim;
From our sins His blood hath washed us,
'Tis through Him our souls draw nigh,
And Thy Spirit, too, hath taught us,
"Abba, Father," thus to cry.
Once as prodigals we wandered
In our folly far from Thee,
But Thy grace, o'er sin abounding,
Rescued us from misery;
Thou Thy prodigals hast pardoned,
Kissed us with a Father's love,
Spread the festive board, and called us,
E'er to dwell with Thee above.
Clothed in garments of salvation,
At Thy table is our place,
We rejoice, and Thou rejoicest,
In the riches of Thy grace;
"It is meet," we hear Thee saying,
"We should merry and be glad,
I have found My once lost children,
Now they live who once were dead."
"Abba, Father!" all adore Thee,
All rejoice in Heav'n above,
While in us they learn the wonders
Of Thy wisdom, grace, and love;
Soon before Thy throne assembled,
All Thy children shall proclaim,
"Glory, everlasting glory,
Be to God and to the Lamb!"
James G. Deck, 1841
Hymns for the Poor of the Flock