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Come Home, Oh Weary Traveler
The wanderings of wayward paths
Step out from restless minds,
To loose the floods of hellish realms
Spawned from the devil’s lies.
Forbidden fruit is dancing,
Before nomadic eyes,
“A taste cannot be harmful,
You will not surely die.”
You ease into caressing waves
Of pleasures streaked with gold,
But the sharks are lurking under,
In dark places from of old.
The black clouds bellow thunder,
While the subtle tide creeps in;
Satisfaction is dissolving,
As you’re swept beyond the brim.
From the dregs of murky waters,
Tendrils of your lust arise -
Entangling and dragging down
To mock at your demise.
Engulfed by utter hopelessness
To drown in agony;
The flood of sin is pressing down,
And flames lick at your feet.
Oh hungry soul, so helpless,
All your glitter lies in mud;
The promised ease to troubled soul
Has drenched your hands in blood.
Who will touch depravity,
Oh, worthless, wretched one;
What light can reach your darkness,
What man can overcome?
There is a way of Mercy,
Running deeper than the ocean;
And with awesome lovingkindness,
His hand reaches for the loathsome.
Come home, oh weary traveler,
From the storm-tossed, angry sea,
To the One who calms the waters,
And sets the captives free.
Come home, oh weary traveler,
By the river that’s called grace,
Sailing to your Father’s arms
To find your resting place.
Come home, oh weary traveler.
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