1 Ungrateful sinners! whence this scorn
Of God’s long-suff’ring grace?
and whence this madness that insults
th’ Almighty to his face?
2 Is it because his patience waits,
and pitying bowels move,
you multiply transgressions more,
and scorn his offer'd love?
3 Dost thou not know, self-blinded man!
his goodness is design'd
to wake repentance in thy soul,
and melt thy harden'd mind?
4 And wilt thou rather chuse to meet
th’ Almighty as thy foe,
and treasure up his wrath in store
against the day of woe?
5 Soon shall that fatal day approach
that must thy sentence seal,
and righteous judgments, now unknown,
in awful pomp reveal;
6 while they, who full of holy deeds
to glory seek to rise,
continuing patient to the end,
shall gain th’ immortal prize.
Source: The Irish Presbyterian Hymbook #R45