1 Heal us, Emmanuel; here we are,
Waiting to feel thy touch:
Deep-wounded souls to thee repair,
And, Saviour, we are such.
2 Our faith is feeble, we confess,—
We faintly trust thy word;
But wilt thou pity us the less?
Be that far from thee, Lord!
3 Remember him who once applied
With trembling for relief;
"Lord, I believe," with tears he cried,
"0 help my unbelief!"
4 She too who touch d thee in the press,
And healing virtue stole,
Was answer'd, "Daughter, go in peace:
Thy faith hath made thee whole."
5 Conceal'd amid the gathering throng,
She would have shunn'd thy view,
And if her faith was firm and strong—
Had strong misgivings too.
6. Like her, with hopes and fears we come,
To touch thee if we may;
Oh! send us not despairing home,
Send none unheal'd away.