Come, humble sinner, in whose breast,
A thousand thoughts revolve,
Come, with your guilt and fear oppressed,
And make this last resolve. I’ll go to Jesus, though my sin
Like mountains round me close;
I know His courts, I’ll enter in,
Whatever may oppose. Prostrate I’ll lie before His throne,
And there my guilt confess,
I’ll tell Him, I’m a wretch undone,
Without His sovereign grace. I’ll to the gracious King approach,
Whose scepter pardon gives;
Perhaps he command my touch,
And then the suppliant lives. Perhaps He will admit my plea,
Perhaps will hear my prayer;
But, if I perish, I will pray,
And perish only there. I can but perish if I go;
I am resolved to try;
But if I stay away, I know
I must forever die. But, if I die with mercy sought,
When I the King have tried,
This were to die (delightful thought!)
As sinner never died. |
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