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147 Fairfield

Come, humble sinner, in whose breast
A thousand thoughts revolve,
Come, with your guilt and fear oppressed
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 to the gracious King approach,
Whose scepter pardon gives;
Perhaps he will command my touch,
And then the suppliant lives.

Perhaps He will admit my plea,
Perhaps will hear my pray'r;
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.

But if I die with mercy sought,
When I the King have tried,
This were to die delightful thought!
As sinner never died.

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