That man whose im­pi­ous tongue de­nies
The God who ev­ery want sup­plies,
Or whose un­hal­lowed act­ions pro­ve
He feels nor gra­ti­tude nor love,
Ranks far be­neath the brute, who knows
What hand his hum­ble meal be­stows.

Yet, did not such hea­ven­ly grace abound,
Such would each son of man be found;
For when the Al­migh­ty from His throne
Looked on the earth, be­hold, not one
The nar­row path of virtue trod,
Or kept the pre­cepts of his God.

But He, who with a sin­gle breath
Could doom a guil­ty world to death,
With mer­cy’s gent­ly plead­ing voice,
Offers sal­va­tion to our choice;
Freedom from sin’s de­bas­ing chain,
And strength fresh con­flicts to sus­tain.

O haste we then—with joy em­brace
This rich, this free­ly of­fered grace;
Gladly our hearts and voic­es raise,
In loud and grate­ful songs of praise,
And to the list­en­ing world pro­claim
Our great Re­deem­er’s glo­ri­ous name.