Like children bent on foolish wandering,
Or vanity of fruitless wayfaring;
Oh call them home.
See them, they drift like the wind-scattered foam;
Like wild sea birds, they hither, thither, fly,
And some sink low and others soar too high,
Oh call them home.
My silence speaketh to Thee, but I roam
With my poor silly thoughts, I know not where;
That undistracted I may go to prayer
Oh call them home.
Amy Carmichael, Toward Jerusalem (1936)
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