1 How lost was my condition,
Till Jesus made me whole;
There is but one physician
Can cure a sin sick soul:
Next door to death he found me,
And plukt me from the grave;
To tell to all around me,
His wond'rous power to save!

2 Of men great skill possessing,
I thought a cure to gain,
But that prov'd more distressing,
And added to my pain:
Some said that nothing ail'd me;
Some gave me up for lost
Thus every refuge fail'd me,
And all my hopes was cross'd.

3 At length this great physician,
How matchless in his power,
Accepted my petition,
And undertook my cure;
First gave me sight to view him,
For sin, my sight had seal'd;
Then bid me look unto him,
I look'd and I was heal'd.

4 A bleeding, dying Jesus,
Seen by an eye of Faith;
At once from sin it frees us,
And saves our souls from death!
Come then to this physician,
His help he'll freely give:
He makes no hard condition,
'Tis only, look and live.