Oh, turn ye, oh, turn ye, for why will ye die,
When God in great mercy is coming so nigh?
Now Jesus invites you; the Spirit says, “Come,”
And angels are waiting to welcome you home.
How vain the delusion, that while you delay,
Your hearts may grow better, your chains melt away;
Come guilty, come wretched, come just as you are,
All helpless and dying, to Jesus for care.
The contrite in heart He will freely receive:
Oh! Why will you not the glad message believe?
If sin be your burden, why will you not come?
It’s you He makes welcome; He bids you come home.