O Sinners, weary of your sin,
Longing a new Life to begin,—
When all the gates of help are shut,
And all the words of Love are mute,
Earth's joys are sere, like burnt-up grass,
And even the very heavens as brass,—
Turn not away so hopelessly,
Jesus of Nazareth passeth by.
O all ye foolish ones, who feel
A sudden doubt, like piercing steel,
Strike your dead souls, make your hearts burn,
Till conscience sighs, "Return, Return,"
Why let the heavenly impulse fleet,
Love's wave wash back from your worn feet;
Know ye not him who comes so nigh?
Jesus of Nazareth, passing by?
