Ye sin­ners on back­slid­ing bent,
God’s gra­cious call at­tend;
Shall not com­pas­sion so di­vine
Each stub­born spir­it bend?

“How shall I give mine Is­ra­el up
To ru­in and des­pair?
How pour down show­ers of flam­ing wrath
And make a So­dom there?

My bow­els strong re­lent­ings feel;
My heart is pained with­in;
I will not all My wrath ex­ert,
Nor vi­sit all their sin.

The mer­cy of a God re­strains
The thun­ders of His hand;
Come, seek pro­tect­ion from that pow­er,
Which you can ne’er with­stand.

With trem­bling haste, O God, to Thee
Let sin­ners wing their flight;
As doves, when birds of prey pur­sue,
Down on their win­dows light.

Father, we seek Thy gra­cious arm,
All melt­ed at Thy voice;
O may Thy heart, that feels our woes,
In our re­turn re­joice.