My Business Lays at Wisdom’s Gate

My bu­si­ness lies at wis­dom’s gate

Where needy sin­ners come

And here I sue

and here I wait

For mer­cy’s fall­ing crumbs.

My rags and wounds my wants pro­claim

And help from Him im­plore;

The wounds do wit­ness I am lame

The rags that I am poor.

My Lord

I hear

the hun­gry feeds

And cheer­eth souls dis­tressed;

He loves to bind up brok­en reeds

And heal a bleed­ing breast.

His name is Je­sus

full of grace

Which draws me to His door;

And will not Je­sus show His face

And bring His Gos­pel store?

Supplies of ev­ery grace I want

And each day want sup­ply;

And if no grace the Lord will grant

I must lay down and die.

But oh! my Lord

such news shall ne’er

Be told in Zi­on’s street

That some poor soul fell in des­pair

And died at Je­sus’ feet.