Stop, poor sinner! stop and think
Before you farther go!
Will you sport upon the brink
Of everlasting woe?
Once again I charge you, stop!
For, unless you warning take,
Ere you are aware, you drop
Into the burning lake!

Say, have you an arm like God,
That you His will oppose?
Fear you not that iron rod
With which He breaks His foes?
Can you stand in that dread day,
When He judgment shall proclaim,
And the earth shall melt away
Like wax before the flame?

Pale faced death will quickly come
To drag you to His bar;
Then to hear your awful doom
Will fill you with despair:
All your sins will round you crowd,
Sins of a blood-crimson dye;
Each for vengeance crying loud,
And what can you reply?

Though your heart be made of steel,
Your forehead lined with brass,
God at length will make you feel,
He will not let you pass:
Sinners then in vain will call,
Though they now despise His grace,
“Rocks and mountains on us fall,
And hide us from His face!”

But as yet there is a hope
You may His mercy know;
Though His arm is lifted up
He still forbears the blow:
?Twas for sinners Jesus died,
Sinners He invites to come;
None who come shall be denied,
He says, “There still is room.”