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'Tis true indeed, my Lord moſt meek,
My ſore and ſickneſs I do feel:
Yet thou the lame didſt truly ſeek,
Who lay long at Betheſda's pool,
Of many that thee never ſought,
Like to the poor Samaritan;
Whom thou unto thy ſold haſt brought,
Ev'n as thou didſt the widow of Nain;
Moſt gracious God, didſt thou not bid,
All that are weary come to thee,
Behold I come! even o'erload
With ſin, have mercy upon me.

The iſſues of thy ſoul are great,
Thou art both leprous and unclean,
To be with me thou art not fit,
Go from me then, let me alone.

Let me thy garments once but touch,
My bloody iſſue ſhall be whole,
It will not coſt thee very much,
To ſave a poor diſtreſſed ſoul:
Speak thou the word, I ſhall be whole,
One look of thee ſhall do me good,
Save now, good Lord, my ſilly ſoul,
Bought with thine own moſt precious blood.

Let me alone, none of my blood,
Was ever ſhed for ſuch as thee,
It was my mercy patience good,
Which from damnation made thee free.

It is confeſt thou hadſt been juſt,
Altho' thou hadſt condemned me,
But O! thy mercies ſtill do laſt,
To ſave the ſoul that truſts in thee: