1 Sin like a venomous disease Infects our vital blood; The only balm is sovereign grace, And the physician, God.
2 Our beauty and our strength are fled, And we draw near to death; But Christ the Lord recalls the dead With his almighty breath.
3 Madness by nature reigns within, The passions burn and rage; Till God's own Son with skill divine The inward fire assuage.
4 [We lick the dust, we grasp the wind, And solid good despise; Such is the folly of the mind, Till Jesus makes us wise.
5 We give our souls the wounds they feel, We drink the poisonous gall, And rush with fury down to hell; But heaven prevents the fall.]
6 [The man possess'd amongst the tombs, Cuts his own flesh and cries; He foams, and raves, till Jesus comes, And the foul spirit flies.]