How kind the good Samaritan
To him who fell among the thieves!
Thus Jesus pities fallen men,
And heals the wounds the soul receives.
Oh! I remember well the day,
When sorely wounded, nearly slain,
Like that poor man I bleeding lay,
And groaned for help, but groaned in vain.
Men saw me in this helpless case,
And passed without compassion by;
Each neighbor turned away his face,
Unmoved by my mournful cry.
But He whose name had been my scorn
(As Jews Samaritans despise)
Came when He saw me thus forlorn,
With love and pity in His eyes.
Gently He raised me from the ground,
Pressed me to lean upon His arm;
And into every gaping wound,
He poured His own all-healing balm.
Unto His church my steps He led,
The house prepared for sinners lost;
Gave charge I should be clothed and fed,
And took upon Him all the cost.
Thus saved from death, from want secured,
I wait till He again shall come,
When I shall be completely cured,
And take me to His heavenly home.
There through eternal boundless days
When nature’s wheel no longer rolls;
How shall I love, adore, and praise,
This good Samaritan to souls!