Woe is me! what tongue can tell
My sad afflicted state,

The Good Samaritan

Luke x. 30

Woe is me! what tongue can tell
My sad afflicted state,
Who my anguish can reveal,
Or all my woes relate?
Fallen among thieves I am,
And they have robbed me of my God,
Turned my glory into shame,
And left me in my blood.

O thou good Samaritan!
In thee is all my hope;
Only thou canst succour man,
And raise the fallen up:
Hearken to my dying cry;
My wounds compassionately see;
Me, a sinner, pass not by,
Who gasp for help from thee.

Still thou journeyest where I am,
Still thy compassions move;
Pity is with thee the same,
And all thy heart is love;
Stoop to a poor sinner, stoop,
And let thy healing grace abound,
Heal my bruises, and bind up
My spirit’s every wound.

Saviour of my soul draw nigh,
In mercy haste to me,
At the point of death I lie,
And cannot come to thee;
Now thy kind relief afford,
The wine and oil of grace pour in;
Good Physician, speak the word,
And heal my soul of sin.

Pity to my dying cries
Hath drawn thee from above,
Hovering over me, with eyes
Of tenderness and love,
Now, even now, I see thy face;
The balm of Gilead I receive;
Thou hast saved me by thy grace,
And bade the sinner live.

Surely now the bitterness
Of second death is past;
O my Life, my Righteousness,
On thee my soul is cast!
Thou hast brought me to thine inn,
And I am of thy promise sure;
Thou shalt cleanse me from all sin,
And all my sickness cure.

Perfect then the work begun,
And make the sinner whole;
All thy will on me be done,
My body, spirit, soul;
Still preserve me safe from harms,
And kindly for thy patient care,
Take me, Jesus, to thine arms,
And keep me ever there.