And canst thou, sin­ner, slight
The call of love di­vine?
Shall God with ten­der­ness in­vite,
And gain no thought of thine?

Wilt thou not cease to grieve
The Spir­it from thy breast,
Till He thy wretch­ed soul shall leave
With all thy sins op­pressed?

Today a par­don­ing God
Will hear the sup­pli­ant pray;
Today a Sav­ior’s cleans­ing blood
Will wash thy guilt away.

But grace so dear­ly bought,
If yet thou wilt des­pise,
Thy fear­ful doom with ven­geance fraught,
Will fill thee with sur­prise.