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tr., John Brownlie

7,7,7,7

128129

I

Lord of mercy, at Thy gate,

Needy souls imploring pray;

Have we come, Good Lord, too late?

Must we turn in grief away?

II

Young and old Thy mercy claim,—

Some are early at the gate,

Some are late to own Thy name,

Surely none, though late, too late!

III

Blessed, who with morning sun,

Hopeful at Thy portals wait;

Yea, and when the day is done,

Blessed they who find the gate.

IV

Ah, Good Lord, when Thou wert here,

Homeless, in our world of sin,

Few, to give Thee warmth and cheer,

Called their weary Lord within.

V

Sad, repenting, full of fear,

Hoping, doubting, still we wait;

As we call, in mercy hear;—

Open, Lord, to us the gate.

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