Am I a Christian far astray,
And slumb'ring on enchanted ground;
Or did my feet ne'er find the way,
Which Bunyan's humble pilgrim found?
Whence was that strange delight I felt?
Why did the gospel charm my ear?
What caused this stubborn heart to melt?
Why was the Savior's name so dear?
Why was the fountain of his blood,
So precious in my mental eye?
Why did such deep sensations crowd
Around the scene on Calvary?
Why did the Godhead shine so bright?
Why did I love the garb he wore,
Alike, when justice claimed his right,
And when sweet mercy's name he bore?
Did airy phantoms fill my brain?—
Did vain delusions cheat my soul?—
Must those bright hopes prove false and vain?
And must I miss the heavenly goal?

"There is joy in Heaven, in the presence of the angels, over one sinner that repenteth."—Scripture.

What's this that breaks upon my ear?
Music sweet;
From golden harps, methinks I hear
Glorious strains!
"There's joy in Heaven," the angels sing,
"A soul repents and owns our King;"
From Heaven to earth the echoes ring,
Pard'ning love!