1 My business lies at wisdom’s gate
Where needy sinners come,
And here I sue, and here I wait
For mercy’s falling crumbs.

2 My rags and wounds my wants proclaim,
And help from Him implore;
The wounds do witness I am lame,
The rags that I am poor.

3 My Lord, I hear, the hungry feeds,
And cheereth souls distressed;
He loves to bind up broken reeds,
And heal a bleeding breast.

4 His name is Jesus, full of grace,
Which draws me to His door;
And will not Jesus show His face,
And bring His Gospel store?

5 Supplies of every grace I want,
And each day want supply;
And if no grace the Lord will grant,
I must lay down and die.

6 But oh! my Lord, such news shall ne’er
Be told in Zion’s street,
That some poor soul fell in despair,
And died at Jesus’ feet.