If God would have painted a yellow stripe on the backs of the elect, I would go around lifting shirts. But since he didn’t, I must preach “whosoever will”; and when “whosoever” believes, I know he is one of the elect.
‘Tis not that I did choose thee, for, Lord, that could not be;
This heart would still refuse thee, hadst thou not chosen me.
Thou from the sin that stained me hast cleansed and set me free;
Of old thou hast ordained me, that I should live to thee.
Why was I made to hear thy voice,
And enter while there’s room;
When thousands make a wretched choice,
And rather starve then come?
‘Twas the same love that spread the feast,
That sweetly forced us in,
Else we had still refused to taste,
And perished in our sin.