Let ev­ery mor­tal ear at­tend,
And ev­ery heart re­joice;
The trum­pet of the Gos­pel sounds
With an in­vit­ing voice.

Lo! all ye hun­gry, starv­ing souls
That feed up­on the wind,
And vain­ly strive with earth­ly toys
To fill an emp­ty mind.

Eternal wis­dom has pre­pared
A soul re­viv­ing feast,
And bids your long­ing ap­pe­tites
The rich pro­vi­sion taste.

Ho! ye that pant for liv­ing streams,
And pine away and die;
Here you may quench your rag­ing thirst
With springs that ne­ver dry.

Rivers of love and mer­cy here
In a rich ocean join;
Salvation in abun­dance flows,
Like floods of milk and wine.

Ye per­ish­ing and na­ked poor,
Who work with migh­ty pain
To weave a gar­ment of your own,
That will not hide your sin,

Come nak­ed, and ad­orn your souls
In robes pre­pared by God,
Wrought by the la­bors of His Son,
And dyed in His own blood.

Dear God! the trea­sures of Thy love
Are ev­er­last­ing mines,
Deep as our help­less mi­se­ries are,
And bound­less as our sins!

The hap­py gates of Gos­pel grace
Stand op­en night and day;
Lord, we are come to seek sup­plies,
And drive our wants away.