Poor Esau re­pent­ed too late
That once he his birth-right de­spised;
And sold, for a mor­sel of meat,
What could not too high­ly be prized:
How great was his ang­uish when told,
The bless­ing he sought to ob­tain,
Was gone with the birth-right he sold,
And none could re­call it again!

He stands as a warn­ing to all,
Wherever the Gos­pel shall come;
O hast­en and yield to the call,
While yet for re­pent­ance there’s room!
Your sea­son will quick­ly be past,
Then hear and ob­ey it to­day;
Lest when you seek mer­cy at last,
The Sav­ior should frown you away.

What is it the world can pro­pose?
A mor­sel of meat at the best!
For this are you will­ing to lose
A share in the joys of the blest?
Its plea­sures will speed­ily end,
Its fa­vor and praise are but breath;
And what can its pro­fits be­friend
Your soul in the mo­ment of death?

If Je­sus for these you de­spise,
And sin to the Sav­ior pre­fer;
In vain your en­trea­ties and cries,
When sum­moned to stand at His bar:
How will you His pre­sence abide?
What ang­uish will tor­ture your heart?
The saints all en­throned by His side,
And you be com­pelled to de­part.

Too oft­en, dear Sav­ior, have I
Preferred some poor tri­fle to Thee;
How is it Thou dost not de­ny
The bless­ing and birth-right to me?
No bet­ter than Esau I am,
Though par­don and Hea­ven be mine;
To me be­longs no­thing but shame,
The praise and the glo­ry be Thine.