1 At even, when the sun was set,
The sick, O Lord, around Thee lay;
O in what divers pains they met!
O with what joy they went away!
2 Once more 'tis eventide, and we
Oppressed with various ills, draw near:
What if thy form we cannot see;
We know and feel that thou art here.
3 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;
4 And none, O Lord, have perfect rest,
For none are wholly free from sin;
And they who fain would serve thee best
Are conscious most of wrong within.
5 O Saviour Christ, thou too art man,
Thou hast been troubled, tempted, tried;
Thy kind but searching glance can scan
The very wounds that shame would hide.
6 Thy touch has still its ancient pow'r;
No word from thee can fruitless fall:
Hear in this solemn evening hour,
And in Thy mercy heal us all.
|First Line:||At even, when the sun was set|
|Title:||At Even, When the Sun was Set|
|Author:||Henry Twells (1868, st. 1, line 1, alt.)|
|Topic:||Assurance and Trust; Evening hymns; Worship of God|
|Source:||Heilige Seelenlust, Breslau, 1657|