Come, let me love: or is my mind
Hardened to stone, or froze to ice?
I see the bless­èd Fair One bend
And stoop t’em­brace me from the skies!

O! ’tis a thought would melt a rock,
And make a heart of ir­on move,
That those sweet lips, that heav’n­ly look,
Should seek and wish a mor­tal love!

I was a trai­tor doomed to fire,
Bound to sus­tain eter­nal pains;
He flew on wings of strong de­sire,
Assumed my guilt, and took my chains.

Infinite grace! al­migh­ty charms!
Stand in amaze, ye whirl-ing skies,
Jesus the God, with nak­ed arms,
Hangs on a cross of love, and dies.

Did pi­ty ev­er stoop so low,
Dressed in di­vi­ni­ty and blood?
Was ev­er re­bel court­ed so
In groans of an ex­pir­ing God?

Again He lives, and spreads His hands,
Hands that were nailed to tor­tur­ing smart;
By these dear wounds, says He; and stands
And prays to clasp me to His heart.

Sure I must love; or are my ears
Still deaf, nor will my pass­ion move?
Then let me melt this heart to tears;
This heart shall yield to death or love.