Come, humble sinner, in whose breast, A thousand thoughts revolve, Come, with your guilt and fear oppressed, And make this last resolve. I’ll go to Jesus, though my sin Like mountains round me close; I know His courts, I’ll enter in, Whatever may oppose. Prostrate I’ll lie before His throne, And there my guilt confess, I’ll tell Him, I’m a wretch undone, Without His sovereign grace. I’ll to the gracious King approach, Whose scepter pardon gives; Perhaps he command my touch, And then the suppliant lives. Perhaps He will admit my plea, Perhaps will hear my prayer; But, if I perish, I will pray, And perish only there. I can but perish if I go; I am resolved to try; But if I stay away, I know I must forever die. But, if I die with mercy sought, When I the King have tried, This were to die (delightful thought!) As sinner never died. |