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.