Where must a sinner fly,

Where must a sinner fly,
That feels himself undone?
On what kind hand rely,
Eternal wrath to shun?
Can wit or reason help him out,
And bring a lasting peace about?

Reason no help can give,
But leaves him in distress;
Nor can he be reprieved
By works of righteousness;
The law as loud as thunder cries,
"The soul that sins against me, dies."

Should creatures all agree,
To give him settled rest,
They cannot set him free,
Nor cheer his troubled breast;
No human arm his case can reach,
Nor men, nor angels heal the breach.

Salvation is of God;
Jehovah is his name;
The Saviour shed his blood;
The Lord of Life was slain;
And by his own atoning blood,
He made a precious way to God.

Here sinners may draw near,
With all their sin and guilt;
Nor death nor danger fear,
Since Jesus' blood was spilt;
A door of hope is opened wide,
In Jesus' bleeding hands and side.