838    L.M.     J. Hart
Sickness. Isa. 38. 12; Job. 7. 3-5; Ps. 102. 4-5

1 Lord, hear a restless wretch’s groans;
  To thee my soul in secret moans:
  My body’s weak, my heart’s unclean;
  I pine with sickness and with sin.

2 My strength decays, my spirits droop;
  Bowed down with guilt, I can’t look up;
  I lose my life, I lose my soul,
  Except thy mercy make me whole.

3 Sin’s rankling sores my soul corrode;
  O heal them with thy balmy blood!
  And, if thou dost my health restore,
  Lord, let me ne’er offend thee more.

4 Or, if I never more must rise,
  But death’s cold hand must close my eyes,
  Pardon my sins, and take me home;
  O come, Lord Jesus, quickly come!