At even, ere the sun was set
The sick, O Lord, around Thee lay
O, in what divers many pains they met!
O, with what joy they went away!
Once more 'tis eventide, and we
Oppressed with various ills, draw near
What if Thy form we cannot see?
We know and feel that Thou art here
O Savior Christ, our woes dispel
For some are sick, and some are sad
And some have never loved Thee well
And some have lost the love they had
And none, O Lord, have perfect rest
For none are wholly free from sin
And they who fain would serve Thee best
Are conscious most of wrong within
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Alternate Verses:
Thy touch has still its ancient power
No word from Thee can fruitless fall
Hear, in this solemn evening hour
And in Thy mercy heal us all
O Savior Christ, Thou too art man
Thou has been troubled, tempted, tried
Thy kind but searching glance can scan
The very wounds that shame would hide
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