Come, Sinners, To The Gospel Feast

Come, sinners, to the gospel feast,
Let every soul be Jesu's guest;
Ye need not one be left behind,
For God hath bidden all mankind.

Sent by my Lord, on you I call,
The invitation is to ALL:
Come, all the world; come, sinner, thou!
All things in Christ are ready now.

Come, all ye souls by sin opprest,
Ye restless wanderers after rest,
Ye poor, and maimed, and halt, and blind,
In Christ a hearty welcome find.

Come, and partake the gospel feast;
Be saved from sin; in Jesus rest;
O taste the goodness of your God,
And eat his flesh, and drink his blood!

Ye vagrant souls, on you I call;
(O that my voice could reach you all!)
Ye all may now be justified,
Ye all may live, for Christ hath died.

My message as from God receive,
Ye all may come to Christ, and live;
O let his love your hearts constrain,
Nor suffer him to die in vain!

His love is mighty to compel;
His conquering love consent to feel,
Yield to his love's resistless power,
And fight against your God no more.

See him set forth before your eyes,
That precious, bleeding sacrifice!
His offered benefits embrace,
And freely now be saved by grace.

This is the time; no more delay!
This is the acceptable day,
Come in, this moment, at his call,
And live for him who died for all.

by Charles Wesley

Comments (7)

this website is anoying
A good narrative piece of poetry nicely penned.
This definitely a prose poetry, I enjoyed much. I love the scenes depicted in there. Good work
David, you have this amazing ability to hopscotch across the markers of anyone's life - so elegantly - non-apologetically bringing things to the front of the reader's mind that have otherwise been all but forgotten. Holding a glass of cola up to the sun to see its red tint, following the path of an ant as he traipse by your lawn chair... easy summer day man... How do you do that? It's so amazing... You know, daydreaming about a pretty girl on the courthouse steps, imagining her going - not to just any drug store - but a brick drug store - who in life hasn't walked into a brick drugstore without thinking about it or letting that memory go any farther than just that... I love your poetry, your mind. I was introduced to classical poetry as a child, quickly falling in love with Emily Dickinson, knowing her tragic story, the deep losses she felt, becoming a hermit in her old age - fearful of society - fearful of loving. I've always said that if I had lived during her day then I would have been knocking on her door every day - non stop until she answered it - just to tell her she's wonderful. You are one of the few poets of my own day whose door I would knock on too...
We got a young poet here - David Berman,28 years old - he's got a real chance to be 29 in a year. I don't want to be too harsh, but this is awfully dull and prosaic. (E. B. - I don't know what the E. stands for, but the B must be Berman.)
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