Would you not tell a dying man a cure for him was found?
Would you not warn a wicked soul he’s on a path hell bound?
Would you not cry to one and all: “Flee from the wrath to come!”
Are you afraid to bear their grief and not be liked by some?
Fear not their looks, their hateful words, their ridicule and scorn
Care for their souls, tell them the truth, though insults must be borne
For in the end, when you will stand, before the throne of God
Your hands will tell, if you were true, while you were on this sod
Let no man’s blood, you didn’t warn, your fearfulness declare
May they not say, you didn’t speak, so how could they prepare?
Lay down your life, give up your pride, though many stripes be worn
Through love indeed, give other cheek, despise their crown of thorns
For it may be, that you will see, one day a rescued soul
Who bathes your scars, in tears of thanks, because you were so bold.