1 When pity prompts me to look round
Upon this fellow clay;
See men reject the gospel sound,
Good God! what shall I say?
2 My bowels yearn for dying men,
Doom'd to eternal woe;
Fain would I speak, but 'tis in vain,
If God does not speak too.
3 O! sinners, sinners, wont you hear,
When in God's name I come?
Upon your peril don't forbear,
Lest hell should be your doom.
4 Now is the time, th' accepted hour,
O! sinners come away;
The Savior's knocking at your door,
Arise without delay.
5 O! don't refuse to give him room,
lest mercy should withdraw;
He'll then in robes of vengeance come
To execute his law.
6 Then where poor mortals, will you be,
If destitute of grace,
When you your injur'd judge shall see,
And stand before his face?
7 O! could you shun that dreadful sight,
How would you wish to fly!
To the dark shades of endless night,
From that all-searching eye?
8 But death and hell must then give up
Their dead, who will appear
At the last trumpet's awful sound,
Their endless doom to hear.
9 No yearning bowels; pity then
Shall not affect my heart;
No, I shall surely say Amen,
When Christ bids you depart.
10 Let not these warnings be in vain,
But lend a listening ear;
Lest you should meet them all again,
When wrapt in keen despair.