Sinner, what has thou to show
Like the joys believers know?
Is thy path of fading flowers,
Half so bright, so sweet, as ours?

Doth a king upon his throne
Make thine every grief his own?
Doth he hourly bend his ear,
All thy secret plaints to hear?

Doth a skillful, healing friend
On thy daily path attend,
And, where thorns and stings abound,
Shed a balm on every wound?

When the tempest rolls on high,
Hast thou still a refuge nigh?
Can, oh can thy dying breath
Summon one more strong than death?

Canst thou, in that awful day,
Fearless tread the gloomy way,
Plead a glo­ri­ous ransom given,
Burst from flesh, and soar to Hea­ven?

Sinner! when wilt thou be wise?
What, though faithless fools despise,
We have treasures, honors, bliss,
God is ours, and all things His.