1 In streets, and op’nings of the gates,
where pours the busy crowd,
thus heav’nly Wisdom lifts her voice,
and cries to men aloud:
2 How long, ye scorners of the truth,
scornful will ye remain?
How long shall fools their folly love,
and hear my words in vain?

3 O turn, at last, at my reproof!
and, in that happy hour,
his bless’d effusions on your heart
my Spirit down shall pour.
4 But since so long, with earnest voice,
to you in vain I call
since all my counsels and reproofs
thus ineffectual fall;

5 The time will come, when humbled low,
in Sorrow’s evil day,
your voice by anguish shall be taught,
but taught too late, to pray.
6 When, like the whirlwind, o’er the deep
comes Desolation’s blast;
pray’rs then extorted shall be vain,
the hour of mercy past.

7 The choice you made has fix'd your doom;
for this is Heav’n’s decree,
that with the fruits of what he sow'd
the sinner fill'd shall be.