409.
The Back-slider.
1
Return, backsliding soul, return!
Nor wander further from the fold!
Thy sad condition see and mourn;
Thou hast thyself to Satan sold;
But, though a captive, ransom see!
The Lord of Life shall set thee free.
2
Behold thy state, and see thy need,
Wretched, and poor, and blind, thou art;
But there is one above to plead,
Who bears thee ever on his heart:
Still to the Saviour raise thine eye,
And, to that fount of mercy, fly!
3
To cease from prayer, thy foe would please,
He whispers, “heaven forbears to hear;”
He dreads the sinner “on his knees,”
And trembles at the contrite tear!
But Christ will not the mourner spurn,
Return! backsliding soul, return!
4
Let past declensions make thee wise,
And know, that none can stand alone!
To God direct thy fervent cries,
To turn, to flesh, the heart of stone!
To him, thy Lord, more faithful be,
Who intercedes, above, for thee.
