Third Sunday after Epiphany

'Lord, if Thou wilt,' the sick man cries.
He knows not what Thy will may be.
But in Thine arms submissive lies.
Leaving the future all to Thee;
"Lord, if Thou wilt," Thou canst restore.
This he believes, and asks no more.

But save me or I perish. Lord!
This is the sinner's earnest prayer.
He knows he has Thy Sacred Word,
And never need in Thee despair;
Shelter me in Thy wounded side,
I cannot, will not, be denied.

My Saviour! how Thy tender heart
Loves to be trusted by Thine own;
O, what a Friend of friends Thou art
If we but lean on Thee alone;
None ever need afflicted be
Who cast their care, O Lord, on Thee.

Speak but the word, and I am whole,
Bid me draw nigh Thee, I am blest.
Save, only save my precious soul,
I'll trust Thy love for all the rest;
If Thou wilt lay the jewel by,
I care not where the casket lie.