Come, hum­ble sin­ner, in whose breast,
A thou­sand thoughts re­volve,
Come, with your guilt and fear op­pressed,
And make this last re­solve.

I’ll go to Je­sus, though my sin
Like mount­ains round me close;
I know His courts, I’ll en­ter in,
Whatever may op­pose.

Prostrate I’ll lie be­fore His throne,
And there my guilt con­fess,
I’ll tell Him, I’m a wretch un­done,
Without His so­ve­reign grace.

I’ll to the gra­cious King ap­proach,
Whose scep­ter par­don gives;
Perhaps he com­mand my touch,
And then the sup­pli­ant lives.

Perhaps He will ad­mit my plea,
Perhaps will hear my pray­er;
But, if I per­ish, I will pray,
And per­ish on­ly there.

I can but per­ish if I go;
I am re­solved to try;
But if I stay away, I know
I must for­ev­er die.

But, if I die with mer­cy sought,
When I the King have tried,
This were to die (de­light­ful thought!)
As sin­ner ne­ver died.