Ungrateful sinners! whence this scorn
Of God's long-suff'ring grace?
And whence this madness that insults
th' Almighty to his face?
Is it because his patience waits,
and pitying bowels move,
You multiply transgressions more,
and scorn his offered love?
Dost thou not know, self-blinded man!
his goodness is designed
To wake repentance in thy soul,
and melt thy hardened mind?
And wilt thou rather chuse to meet
th' Almighty as thy foe,
And treasure up his wrath in store
against the day of woe?
Soon shall that fatal day approach
that must thy sentence seal,
And righteous judgments, now unknown,
in awful pomp reveal;
While they, who full of holy deeds
to glory seek to rise,
Continuing patient to the end,
shall gain th' immortal prize.