Hark, sinner, while God

From on high doth entreat thee,

And warnings with accents of mercy

Doth blend;

Give ear to His voice,

Lest in judgement He meet thee;

“The harvest is passing, the summer will end.”

The Saviour is calling thee

From perdition way,

He is calling thee with the voice of

Mercy;

Make haste now and be cover’d

Under His love,

“The harvest is passing, the summer will end.”

How oft of thy danger

And guilt he hath told thee,

How oft still the message of mercy

Doth send;

Haste, haste, while he waits in his

Arms to enfold thee,

“The harvest is passing, the summer will end.”

Despised and rejected,

At length he may leave thee,

What anguish and horror thy bosom

Will rend;

Then haste thee, O sinner, while He

Will receive thee,

“The harvest is passing, the summer will end.”

The Saviour will call thee

In judgement before him,

Oh, bow to his sceptre, and make

Him thy friend;

Now yield Him thy heart and make

Haste to adore Him,

“Thy harvest is passing thy summer will end.”