1 Ye dying sons of men,
Immersed in sin and woe,
The Gospel’s voice attend,
While Jesus sends to you:
Ye perishing and guilty, come;
In Jesus’ arms there yet is room.
2 No longer now delay,
Nor vain excuses frame;
He bids you come today,
Though poor, and blind, and lame:
All things are ready; sinner, come;
For every trembling soul there’s room.
3 Believe the heavenly word
His messengers proclaim;
He is a gracious Lord,
And faithful is His name:
Backsliding souls, return and come;
Cast off despair; there yet is room.
4 Compelled by bleeding love,
Ye wandering sheep, draw near;
Christ calls you from above;
His charming accents hear:
Let whosoever will now come,
In mercy’s breast there still is room.
|First Line:||Ye dying sons of men|
|Title:||Ye Dying Sons Of Men|
|Author:||James Boden, 1757-1841|
|Source:||Gospel Magazine, February and August 1777|
|Notes:||Some have suggested his father might be the authro.|