1 Ye bold blaspheming souls,
Whose conscience nothing scares;
Ye carnal, cold, professing fools,
Whose state's as bad as theirs;

2 Ye strong deluded lights,
Whose faith's too stout to pray;
And ye whom proud perfection cheats,
As free from sin as they.

3 The awful change, not far,
Dissolves each golden dream:
Death will distinguish what you are
From what you only seem.

4 Repent, or you're undone,
And pray to God with speed:
Perhaps the truth may yet be known,
And make you free indeed.

5 The hour of death draws nigh;
'Tis time to drop the mask;
Fall at the feet of Christ and cry:
He gives to all that ask.

6 Good Shepherd of the sheep,
Abolisher of death,
O give us all repentance deep,
And purifying faith.