All the halt, the blind, the maimed:
Come, ye poor from out the highways,
Come, a feast awaits you, come!
Leave the hedges and the byways,
Hasten to the Father’s home.
We have heard Thee call, dear Father,
In Thy Word and sacrament;
Round Thy festal board we’ll gather
Till our life’s last day is spent.
Ours the risen Saviour’s merit,