Come, humble sinner, in whose breast A thousand thoughts revolve, Come, with your guilt and fear opprest, And make this last resolve; I'll go to Jesus, though my sin Hath like a mountain rose; I know His courts, I'll enter in, Whatever may oppose. Prostrate I'll lie before His throne, And there my guilt confess; I'll tell Him I'm a wretch undone, Without His sov'reign grace. I'll do the gracious King approach, Whose sceptre pardon gives; Perhaps He may command my touch, And then the suppliant lives. Perhaps He will admit my plea, Perhaps will hear my prayer; But if I perish I will pray, And perish only there. I can but perish if I go; I am resolved to try; For if I stay away, I know I must forever die.