Say, oh: say, my people,
Why thus ungrateful prove?
Why repay with coldness
The ardour of My love?
If I am He who died to save,
Who life-redeeming ransom gave,
Must I complain?
That all this love was vain.

When for child did father bear.
What I for you have borne;
When did child to father give,
Like you, such cause to mourn?
And yet this heart, though outraged so,
Can nought but fond forgiveness show:
Then come, - return,
Nor all its mercy spurn.

Think not that my heart demands
A sacrifice too great;
It asks of guilty man but love,
And man returns but hate,
Heedful of every passion's word.
But deaf to me, his God and Lord,
The more I press,
He heeds my voice the less.

Yes, we come, sweet Jesus,
We hearken to your call.
And gives you willing tribute
Of love, - life, freedom, all;
No more the world's deceitful charms
Shall wrest your children from your arms,
Nor Satan win
Our hearts from you to sin. Amen.