O physician, canst thou minister
To a mind diseased with sinister
Doubts and fears? Will potions, pills,
Heal this grief of mine that kills
All the joy that I should own?
Hast thou balm to soothe the moan
Of the weary heart that gropes
Blindly in the dark, and hopes
Heaven to find and peace mind?
Thoughts of hatred change to kind;
Envy's tongue, with poison pointed,
Still and heal with love anointed;
Bitter strife with peace soon quell,
Lying hearts with truth make well;
Sin-seared lives of men reclaim
For righteousness and higher aim,—
Canst thy medicine do this?
Nay, it cannot? 'Tis amiss!
Go, then, leave me here alone
With my God, and at His throne
Humbly will I kneel, and pray
That He lead me in the way
Of His truth and life and love;
And as ages yore the dove
Haven safe and peace did find,
So shall I for body, mind!
O Thou Great Physician wise,
Lift the sackcloth from the eyes
Of my faith! Help me to know
That, as in Thy truth I grow
And all Thy promises believe,
Answer shall my prayers receive;
And trusting still—though yet no sign—
I'll wake to find the healing mine!
