A Sick Soul

I

Physician of my sin-sick soul,
  To thee I bring my case;
My raging malady control,
  And heal me by thy grace.

II

Pity the anguish I endure,
  See how I mourn and pine;
For never can I hope a cure
  From any hand but thine.

III

I would disclose my whole complaint,
  But where shall I begin?
No words of mine can fully paint
  That worst distemper, sin.

IV

It lies not in a single part,
  But through my frame is spread;
A burning fever in my heart,
  A palsy in my head.

V

It makes me deaf and dumb and blind,
  And impotent and lame;
It overclouds and fills my mind
  With folly, fear, and shame.

VI

A thousand evil thoughts intrude
  Tumultuous in my breast;
Which indispose me for my food,
  And rob me of my rest.

VII

Lord, I am sick, regard my cry,
  And set my spirit free:
Say, canst thou let a sinner die,
  Who longs to live to thee?