Thine arm, O Lord, in days of old,

Was strong to heal and save;

It triumph'd o'er disease and death,

O'er darkness and the grave,

To Thee they went-the blind, the dumb,

The palsied, and the lame,

The leper with his fainted life,

The sick fever’d frame.

And lo! Thy touch brought life and health,

Gave speech, and strength, and sight;

And youth renew’d and frenzy calm'd

Own’d Thee, the Lord of light

And now, 0 Lord, be near to bless,

Almighty as of yore,

In crowded street, by restless couch

As by Gennesaret's shore.

Be Thou our great Deliverer still,

Thou Lord of fife and death;

Restore and quicken, soothe and bless,

With Thine almighty breath;

To hands that work and eyes that see

Give wisdom's heav’nly lore,

That whole and sick, and weak and strong,

May praise Thee evernore.