THE harvest of my joys is passed, The summer of my comforts fled, Yet am I...

THE harvest of my joys is passed, The summer of my comforts fled, Yet am I unredeemed at last, And sink unsaved among the dead, If on the margin of the grave Thou canst not in a moment save.

Destroy me not by thy delay; Delay is endless death to me! But the last moment of my day Is as a thousand years to thee: Come, Jesus, while my head I bow, And show me thy salvation now!