1217.
[Come all the lost race, Redeem'd from your fall]
Ho, every one that thirsteth, &c.
—lv. 1–3.
Come all the lost race, Redeem'd from your fall;
A fountain of grace Is open'd for all:
Your God's invitation Discovers the stream;
The wells of salvation Are open'd in Him.
Who seek to be bless'd, But labour in vain,
And sigh for the rest Ye cannot attain,
Come all to the Saviour, Your life-giving Lord,
And find in His favour Your Eden restored.
Poor vagabonds here Who shadows pursue,
To Jesus draw near For happiness true.
Ye all may receive it, (Good news for the poor,)
And when ye believe it, Your pardon is sure.
Come, taste, and confess The goodness Divine,
The sense of His grace Is better than wine:
'Tis sweeter than honey, The milk of the word;
'Tis bought without money, The love of your Lord.
No goodness have ye, No goodness ye need;
His mercy is free, Is mercy indeed!
Renounce your own merit, And buy without price
His grace and His Spirit, And crown in the skies.
Distracted by thought And care without end,
Your labour for nought, Ah! why will ye spend,
Your time of probation In trifles employ,
In vain expectation Of fugitive joy?
For pleasure, and praise, And riches ye pant;
Your wishes possess, Yet perish for want:
Destroy'd by fruition, Your bliss ye bemoan,
And wail your condition, Contented with none.
Come just as ye are, For Jesus invites
Mere sinners to share Substantial delights:
Ye weary, and burden'd, Who happy would be,
And wish to be pardon'd, Come, listen to Me.
Be bless'd for My sake, With permanent good
And freely partake Angelical food,
Be fed by believing With Bread from above,
My nature receiving, And fill'd with My love.
The ear of your heart, Whoever incline,
To you I impart My fulness Divine,
Your souls by My Spirit Made meet for the sky,
The life shall inherit, Which never shall die.
