2 Cast thy guilty soul on him, Find him mighty to redeem; At his feet thy burden lay, Look thy doubts and fears away; Now by faith the Son embrace, Plead his promise, trust his grace. 947 7s, 6 lines. Jesus, Saviour, pity me. Pity, Lord! this child of clay, Who can only weep and pray— Only on thy love depend: Thou who art the sinner’s Friend; Thou the sinner’s only plea— Jesus, Saviour, pity me! 2 From thy flock, a straying Lamb, Tender Shepherd, though I am; Now, upon the mountain cold, Lost, I long to gain the fold, And within thine arms to be: Jesus, Saviour, pity me! 3 O, where stillest streams are poured, In green pastures lead me, Lord! Bring me back, where angels sound Joy to the poor wanderer found: Evermore my Shepherd be: Jesus, Saviour, pity me! 948 7s. The prodigal invited. Brother, hast thou wandered far From the Father’s happy home, With thyself and God at war? Turn thee, brother—homeward come. 2 Hast thou wasted all the powers God for noble uses gave? Squandered life’s most golden hours? Turn thee, brother—God can save. 3 He can heal thy bitterest wound, He thy gentlest prayer can hear; Seek him, for he may be found; Call upon him—he is near. 949 8s & 7s. Father, take me. Take me, O my Father! take me— Take me, save me, through thy Son; That which thou wouldst have me, make me; Let thy will in me be done. 2 Long from thee my footsteps straying, Thorny proved the way I trod; Weary come I now, and praying— Take me to thy love my God! 3 Fruitless years with grief recalling, Humbly I confess my sin! At thy feet, O Father, falling, To thy household take me in. 4 Freely now to thee I proffer This relenting heart of mine; Freely, life and soul I offer, Gift unworthy love like thine. 5 Once the world’s Redeemer, dying, Bore our sins upon the tree; On that sacrifice relying, Now I look in hope to thee. 6 Father, take me! all forgiving, Fold me to thy loving breast; In thy love for ever living, I must be for ever blest. 950 10s. Returning. A weak and weary dove, with drooping wing, And tired of wandering o’er this watery waste, Jesus, my ark! once more a worthless thing, To thee I fly, thy pardoning love to taste. 2 For since I left thy sweet, secure retreat, In search of pleasures fair, though false and vain, My peace—my joy have flown; no rest my feet Have found; and now I turn to thee again!