O Thou, whom once they flocked to hear,

Thy words to hear, Thy pow’r to feel;

Suffer the sinners to draw near,

And graciously receive us still.

They that be whole, Thyself hast said,

No need of a physician have;

But I am sick, and want Thine aid,

And want Thine utmost pow’r to save.

Thy pow’r and truth and love divine,

The same from age to age endure;

A word, a gracious word of Thine.

The most inveterate plague can cure.

Helpless howe’er my spirit lies,

And long hath languish’d at the pool,

A word of Thine shall make me rise

And speak me in a moment whole.

Eighteen, or eight and thirty, years

Or thousands, are alike to Thee

Soon, as Thy saving grace appears,

My plague is gone, my heart is free.

Make this the acceptable hour;

Come, O my soils Physician, Thou

Display Thy sanctifying pow’r

And show me Thy salvation now.