Sickness. Isa. 38. 12; Job. 7. 3-5; Ps. 102. 4-5
J. Hart L.M.
Lord, hear a restless wretch’s groans;
To thee my soul in secret moans:
My body’s weak, my heart’s unclean;
I pine with sickness and with sin.
My strength decays, my spirits droop;
Bowed down with guilt, I can’t look up;
I lose my life, I lose my soul,
Except thy mercy make me whole.
Sin’s rankling sores my soul corrode;
O heal them with thy balmy blood!
And, if thou dost my health restore,
Lord, let me ne’er offend thee more.
Or, if I never more must rise,
But death’s cold hand must close my eyes,
Pardon my sins, and take me home;
O come, Lord Jesus, quickly come!