1 Deep are the wounds which sin hath made;
Where shall the sinner find a cure?
In vain, alas, is nature's aid,
The work exceeds all nature's power.
2 Sin, like a raging fever, reigns
With fatal strength in every part;
The dire contagion fills the veins,
And spreads its poison to the heart.
3 And can no sovereign balm be found?
And is no kind physician nigh,
To ease the pain and heal the wound,
Ere life and hop forever fly?
4 There is a great physician near,
Look up. O fainting soul, and live;
See, in his heavenly smiles appear
Such ease as nature cannot give!
5 See in the Savior's dying blood
Life, health, and bliss abundant flow!
'Tis only this dear sacred flood
Can cleanse the heart, and heal its woe.
6 Sin throws in vain its pointed dart,
For here a sovereign cure is found;
A cordial for a fainting heart,
A balm for every painful wound.
The Hartford Selection of Hymns from the most approved authors, 1799
|Instances (1 - 1 of 1)||Title||First Line||Tune||Tune Key||Author||Meter||Scripture||Date||Subject||Source|
|The Cyber Hymnal #1203||Deep Are the Wounds That Sin Has Made||Deep are the wounds that sin has made||ST. SEPULCHRE||Anne Steele||LM||<cite>Poems on Subjects Chiefly Devotional</cite>, 1760|