When Pity Prompts Me To Look Round

When pity prompts me to look round
Upon this fellow clay;
See men reject the gospel sound,
Good God! what shall I say?

My bowels yearn for dying men,
Doom’d to eternal woe;
Fain would I speak, but ’tis in vain,
If God does not speak too.

O! sinners, sinners, wont you hear,
When in God’s name I come?
Upon your peril don’t forbear,
Lest hell should be your doom.

Now is the time, th’ accepted hour,
O! sinners come away;
The Savior’s knocking at your door,
Arise without delay.

O! don’t refuse to give him room,
lest mercy should withdraw;
He’ll then in robes of vengeance come
To execute his law.

Then where poor mortals, will you be,
If destitute of grace,
When you your injur’d judge shall see,
And stand before his face?

O! could you shun that dreadful sight,
How would you wish to fly!
To the dark shades of endless night,
From that all-searching eye?

But death and hell must then give up
Their dead, who will appear
At the last trumpet’s awful sound,
Their endless doom to hear.

No yearning bowels; pity then
Shall not affect my heart;
No, I shall surely say Amen,
When Christ bids you depart.

Let not these warnings be in vain,
But lend a listening ear;
Lest you should meet them all again,
When wrapt in keen despair.