Wandering in the desert wide,
By the Lord Himself sustained,
Israel, full of lust and pride,
Of their gracious Lord complained;
Weary of the way He led,
Thankless for their daily bread.

Fiery serpents soon were sent:
Israel filled with sore distress,
Now their waywardness repent,
Now their sinful words confess:
Sick and sore they lie around,
Who can heal their deadly wound?

Lo! the serpent lifted high,
God a remedy doth give:
Wounded sufferers, ere you die,
To the serpent “look and live.”
Such the cure by grace devised,
E’en the faintest look sufficed.

Sorer sickness, my dear child,
Deep within your heart is found;
Yours a soul by sin defiled,
Yours a darker, deadlier wound.
May you feel your wound and flee
To the only remedy.