His Spirit draws at mine, invites me to come near.
This voice is so familiar, see. I cannot help but hear.
I linger, but a little while. Accounting to be done.
Guilt and shame, it's all my fault. Still the wandering one.
This roving, busy, working heart of mine, trembles in the chill.
He waits, He tugs, He calls again. Chiseling at my will.
All is peace and quiet now. This day's toil is done.
One more time He whispers, and this time I do run.
Words and tears, emotions spilt, composure all undone.
"It's been too long" "I know," I cry. He's not the wandering one.
The warmth, the joy, the pardon, too, as He and I commune,
I beg that I ne'er stray again, that my heart become immune
To all that from His presence, my willful soul distracts
From running, running strait away to Him who always asks,
Where Art Thou?