O Thou through suffering perfect made,
On whom the bitter cross was laid;
In hours of sickness, grief and pain,
No sufferer turns to Thee in vain.

The halt, the maimed, the sick, the blind,
Sought not in vain Thy tendance kind,
Now in Thy poor Thy­self we see,
And minister through them to Thee.

O loving Sav­ior, Thou canst cure
The pains and woes Thou didst endure;
For all who need, Physician great,
Thy healing balm we supplicate.

But, O far more, let each keen pain
And hour of woe be heavenly gain,
Each stroke of Thy chastising rod
Bring back the wanderer nearer God!

O heal the bruisèd heart within!
O save our souls all sick with sin!
Give life and health in bounteous store,
That we may praise Thee ev­er­more!