Desponding soul, O cease thy woe;

Dry up thy tears; to Jesus go,

In faith’s appointed way;

Let not thy unbelieving fears

Still hold thee back—thy Saviour hears—

From him no longer stay.

2 No works of thine can e’er impart

A balm to heal thy wounded heart,

Or solid comfort give;

Turn, then, to him who freely gave

His precious blood thy soul to save:

E’en now he bids thee live.

3 Helpless and lost, to Jesus fly!

His power and love are ever nigh

To those who seek his face;

Thy deepest guilt on him was laid;

He bore thy sins, thy ransom paid;

O, haste to share his grace.