1 "No, I cannot, cannot yet
Yield me to the Saviour's call;
All my sinful joys forget,
At his feet for mercy fall."

2 So the fair one said, and turn'd
From the throne of grace away;
Soon, alas! she pray'd and mourn'd,
When too late to mourn or pray.

3 Sickness came with rapid pace--
Laid her on a bed of death;
Terror stared her in the face,
She must yield her fleeting breath.

4 "Send," she cried, "for mercy send--
Bring the man of God with speed;
Tell him I am near my end,
Tell him that his prayers I need."

5 Waken'd at the midnight hour,
To the dying couch he flew;
There was work beyond his power,
More than mortal man could do.

6 "Save me, save me," cried the fair,
Shriek on shriek heart-rending rose;
"Down I sink to dark despair,
Down to everlasting woes."

7 Vainly did the man of prayer
Point her to the crucified,
Vainly whisper'd in her ear,
"Christ for every sinner died."

8 "Lost," she cried, "for ever lost!
Every ray of hope has fled;
Now too late I count the cost"--
Horror follow'd--she was dead.