How lost was my condition,
Till Jesus made me whole!
There is but one Physician
Can cure a sin-sick soul!
Next door to death He found me,
And snatched me from the grave,
To tell to all around me
His wondrous power to save.
The worst of all diseases
Is light, compared with sin—
On every part it seizes,
But rages most within;
'Tis palsy, dropsy, fever,
And madness all combined,
And none but a believer
The least relief can find.
From men great skill professing,
I thought a cure to gain;
But this proved more distressing,
And added to my pain;
Some said that nothing ailed me;
Some gave me up for lost;
Thus every effort failed me,
And all my hopes were crossed.
At length this great Physician,
How matchless is His grace!
Regarded my condition,
And undertook my case—
First gave me sight to see Him,
For sin my eyes has sealed;
Then bade me look unto Him;
I looked and I was healed.
A dying, risen Jesus,
Seen by the eye of faith,
At once from anguish freed me,
And saved my soul from death.
Come, then, to this Physician,
His grace He'll freely give,
He makes no hard condition
'Tis only look and live.