“At even, ere the sun was set,
The sick, O Lord, around Thee lay;
Oh, in what divers pains they met;
Oh, with what joy they went away!
Once more ‘tis even-tide, and we,
Oppressed with various ills draw near:
What if Thy form we cannot see?
We know and feel that Thou art here.
O Saviour Christ, our woes dispel;
For some are sick, and some are sad,
And some have never loved Thee well,
And some have lost the love they had.
Thy touch has still its ancient power,
No word from Thee can fruitless fall;
Hear in this solemn evening hour,
And in Thy mercy heal us all.”