1 Heal us, Immanuel, here we are,
Waiting to feel thy touch;
Deep wounded souls to thee repair,
And, Saviour, we are such.
2 Our faith is feeble, we confess,
We faintly trust thy word,
But wilt thou pity us the less?
Far be that from the Lord!
3 Remember him who once applied
With trembling for relief:
"Lord, I believe," with tears he cried,
"O help my unbelief."
4 She too, who touch'd thee in the press,
And healing virtue stole,
Was answered, "Daughter, go in peace,
"Thy faith hath made thee whole."
5 Conceal'd amidst the gather'd throng,
She would have shunn'd thy view;
And if her faith was firm and strong,
Had strong misgivings too.
6 Like her, with hopes and fears we come,
To touch thee if we may;
Oh! send us not despairing home,
Send none unheal'd away.
|First Line:||Heal us, Immanuel, here we are|