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!
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