The Great Physician

Ye mourning sinners, here disclose
Your deep complaints, your various woes;
Approach, 'tis Jesus, he can heal
The pains which mourning sinners feel.

To eyes long clos'd in mental night,
Strangers to all the joys of light,
His word imparts a blissful ray:
Sweet morning of celestial day!

Ye helpless lame, lift up your eyes,
The Lord, the Saviour bids you rise;
New life and strength his voice conveys,
And plaintive groans are chang'd for praise.

Nor shall the leper, hopeless lie
Beneath the Great Physician's eye;
Sin's deepest pow'r his word controuls,
That fatal leprosy of souls.

That hand divine, which can assuage
The burning fever's restless rage;
That hand, omnipotent and kind,
Can cool the fever of the mind.

When freezing palsy chills the veins,
And pale, cold death, already reigns,
He speaks; the vital pow'rs revive:
He speaks, and dying sinners live.

Dear Lord, we wait thy healing hand;
Diseases fly at thy command:
O let thy sov'reign touch impart
Life, strength, and health to ev'ry heart!

Then shall the sick, the blind, the lame,
Adore their Great Physician's name;
Then dying souls shall bless their God,
And spread thy wond'rous praise abroad.