In streets, and op’nings of the gates,

where pours the busy crowd,

Thus heav’nly Wisdom lifts her voice,

and cries to men aloud:

How long, ye scorners of the truth,

scornful will ye remain?

How long shall fools their folly love,

and hear my words in vain?

O turn, at last, at my reproof!

and, in that happy hour,

His bless’d effusions on your heart

my Spirit down shall pour.

But since so long, with earnest voice,

to you in vain I call

Since all my counsels and reproofs

thus ineffectual fall;

The time will come, when humbled low,

in Sorrow’s evil day,

Your voice by anguish shall be taught,

but taught too late, to pray.

When, like the whirlwind, o’er the deep

comes Desolation’s blast;

Pray’rs then extorted shall be vain,

the hour of mercy past.

The choice you made has fixed your doom;

for this is Heav’n’s decree,

That with the fruits of what he sowed

the sinner filled shall be.