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!

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