To Calm the Sorrows of the Mind

To calm the sor­rows of the mind

Our heav’n­ly friend is nigh

To wipe the anx­ious tear that starts

Or trem­bles in the eye.

Thou canst

when ang­uish rends the heart

The sec­ret woe con­trol;

The in­ward ma­la­dy canst heal

The sick­ness of the soul.

Thou canst re­press the ris­ing sigh

Canst soothe each mor­tal care;

And ev­ery deep and heart­felt groan

Is waft­ed to Thine ear.

Thy gra­cious eye is watch­ful still;

Thy po­tent arm can save

From threat­en­ing danger and dis­ease

And all-de­vour­ing grave.

When pale and lang­uid all the frame

The ruth­less hand of pain

Arrests the fee­ble pow­ers of life

The help of man is vain.

’Tis Thou

great God! alone canst check

The pro­gress of dis­ease;

And sick­ness

awed by pow­er di­vine

The high com­mand obeys.

Eternal source of life and health.

And ev­ery bliss we feel!

In sor­row and in joy to Thee

Our grate­ful hearts ap­peal.