Only a Tract

It is only a tract—you may tear it
And crumble it in your hand;
The wind as it passes, may bear it
And scatter it over the land.

It is only a tract—you may spurn it
And deem it unworthy a thought;
May ridicule, trample and burn it,
Despise it and set it at naught.

It is only a tract, but it telleth
Of happiness, holiness, heaven,
Where God in eternity dwelleth
With sinners His love has forgiven.

It speaks of a future in heaven:
Of present enjoyment and bliss:
And will you neglect such a story
So loving, so joyous as this?

It whispers, no matter how hardened,
No matter how vile you have been,
You may at this moment be pardoned
And saved from the bondage of sin.

It points to the Substitute dying,
The Sinless for sinners like you.
O! soul, on His merits relying,
Come, prove that its message is true.

It is but a tract, yet its warning
Is whispered like Jesus' own voice:
And now at thy acceptance or scorning,
Either heaven or hell will rejoice.