1 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.

2 Thou canst, when anguish rends the heart,
The secret woe control;
The inward malady canst heal,
The sickness of the soul.

3 Thou canst repress the rising sigh,
Canst soothe each mortal care;
And every deep and heartfelt groan
Is wafted to Thine ear.

4 Thy gracious eye is watchful still;
Thy potent arm can save
From threatening danger and disease,
And all-devouring grave.

5 When pale and languid all the frame,
The ruthless hand of pain
Arrests the feeble powers of life,
The help of man is vain.

6 ’Tis Thou, great God! alone canst check
The progress of disease;
And sickness, awed by power divine,
The high command obeys.

7 Eternal source of life and health.
And every bliss we feel!
In sorrow and in joy to Thee
Our grateful hearts appeal.