1 Ye scarlet colour'd sinners, come;
Jesus the Lord invites you home;
O whither can you go?
What— are your crimes of crimson hue?
His promise is for ever true,
He'll wash you white as snow.
2 Backsliding souls, fill'd with your ways,
Whose weeping nights, and wretched days,
In bitterness are spent:
Return to Jesus— he'll reveal
His lovely face, and sweetly heal
What you so much lament.
3 Tried souls! look up—he says 'Tis I—
He loves you still, but means to try
If faith will bear the test;
The Lord has giv'n the chiefest good,
He shed for you his precious blood;
O trust him for the rest!
4 Ye tender souls, draw hither too,
Ye grateful, highly favor'd few,
Who feel the debt you owe;
Press on, the Lord hath more to give;
By faith upon him daily live,
And you shall find it so.
Source: A Selection of Hymns: from the best authors, intended to be an appendix to Dr. Watt's psalms and hymns. (1st Am. ed.) #CXXI