Ye dy­ing sons of men,
Immersed in sin and woe,
The Gos­pel’s voice at­tend,
While Je­sus sends to you:
Ye per­ish­ing and guil­ty, come;
In Je­sus’ arms there yet is room.

No long­er now de­lay,
Nor vain ex­cus­es frame;
He bids you come to­day,
Though poor, and blind, and lame:
All things are rea­dy; sin­ner, come;
For every trem­bling soul there’s room.

Believe the hea­ven­ly word
His mes­sen­gers pro­claim;
He is a gra­cious Lord,
And faith­ful is His name:
Backsliding souls, re­turn and come;
Cast off de­spair; there yet is room.

Compelled by bleed­ing love,
Ye wan­der­ing sheep, draw near;
Christ calls you from above;
His charm­ing ac­cents hear:
Let who­so­ev­er will now come,
In mer­cy’s breast there still is room.