MY SPIRIT LIES

Helpless howe'er my spirit lies,
And long hath languished at the pool,
A word of Thine shall make me rise,
And speak me in a moment whole.

Sinners of old Thou didst receive
With comfortable words and kind,
Their sorrows cheer, their wants relieve,
Heal the diseased, and cure the blind.

And art Thou not the Saviour still,
In every place and age the same?
Hast Thou forgot Thy gracious skill,
Or lost the virtue of Thy name?