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 snatched me from the grave;
To tell to all around me,
His wondrous power to save.

2 The worst of all diseases
Is light, compared with sin;
On every part it seizes,
But rages most within:
’Tis palsy, plague, and fever,
And madness—all combined;
And none but a believer,
The least relief can find.

3 From men great skill professing,
I thought a cure to gain;
But this proved more distressing,
And added to my pain:
Some said that nothing ailed me,
Some gave me up for lost;
Thus every refuge failed me,
And all my hopes were crossed.

4 At length this great physician,
How matchless is His grace!
Accepted my petition,
And undertook my case;
First gave me sight to view Him,
For sin my eyes had sealed;
Then bid me look unto Him;
I looked, and I was healed.

5 A dying, risen Jesus,
Seen by the eye of faith,
From every danger frees us,
And saves the soul from death:
Come then to this physician,
His help He’ll freely give;
He makes no hard condition,
’Tis only—look, and live.