1 Come, come, come,
Come, for the Father waits,
His fatlings all are slain;
Come, ere he close his gates,
And thou knock without in vain.
How long wilt thou refuse
Rich mercies from on high,
And madly, madly choose,
In thy wretchedness to die.

2 Come, for the Saviour stands
To plead thy guilty cause;
And spread for thee his hands,
As he spread them on the cross:
His grace will Jesus give,
His saving help is nigh:
Come unto him and live,
And thou nevermore shalt die.

3 Come, for the Spirit pleads--
Pleads with thee to return;
Forsake thy evil deeds,
And for all thy follies mourn:
Grieve not that friend divine;
Pass not his proffers by;
He is thy friend, even thine,
And he would not have thee die.

4 Come, and the angel strain
From thousand harps shall sound,
"The dead one lives again,
And the long lost child is found:"
Loud are the songs of heaven,
Great raptures are on high,
When sinners are forgiven,
And they live no more to die.