AT even, ere the sun was set, The sick, O Lord, around thee lay; O in what...

AT even, ere the sun was set, The sick, O Lord, around thee lay; O in what divers 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 Saviour 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 some have found the world is vain, Yet from the world they break not free; And some have friends who give them pain. Yet have not sought a friend in thee;

And all, O Lord, crave perfect rest, And to be wholly free from sin; And they who fain would serve thee best Are conscious most of wrong within.

O Saviour Christ, thou too art man! Thou hast been troubled, tempted, tried; Thy kind but searching glance can scan The very wounds that shame would hide,

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.