No rod of ven­geance Je­sus takes
Like that which Mos­es bore;
His peace­ful scep­ter shows He came
To save and to re­store.

Laden with woes the sons of men
To this Phy­si­cian fly:
He lends an ear to their com­plaints
And looks with pi­ty­ing eye.

The pow­er­ful word He speaks, and lo!
The eyes long closed in night
Lift up their lids, with sweet sur­prise,
To hail the joy­ous light.

New life the wi­thered crip­ple feels
Diffused through ev­ery part:
His couch and crutch he now for­gets,
And leaps like any hart.

A word the deaf re­stores; the dumb
With ease their tongues em­ploy;
Amazed, and pleased at their own voice,
They sing and shout for joy.

Behold at once the le­pers cleansed,
Touched by the Sav­ior’s hand:
Palsy, and fe­ver, and each plague
Depart at His command.

The winds and waves, midst all their rage,
His pow­er­ful voice ob­ey:
Devils His aw­ful pre­sence flee,
Nor dare they long­er stay.

Repeat my soul, these won­drous acts,
And all His hon­ors spread:
Tell how His voice un­barred the tomb,
And waked the si­lent dead.

Jesus, my Sav­ior and my Lord,
How bright Thy glo­ries shine!
Thy works all praise ex­ceed, and speak
Thy char­ac­ter di­vine.