8,8,8,8

I

O Lord, Thou in the hour of need,

Didst succour those who sought Thine aid, --

The faint revive, the hungry feed, --

And on the sick thine hand was laid.

II

Our needy souls Thy help would crave,

For faint they droop, and hungry pine, --

Lord, from their mortal sickness save,

And heal them by Thy power divine.

III

Where memories weave a sombre web,

And sighs reveal the heart distressed,

Where joys that flowed, in murmurs ebb,

And buoyant souls are sore oppressed;

IV

Come as of yore, all helpful, come,

And let Thy loving kindness bless,

That, where the voice of praise is dumb,

Songs may arise of thankfulness.