How Lost Was My Condition

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.