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John Newton - How Lost Was My Condition
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How lost was my condition
Till Jesus made me whole!
There is but one physician
Can cure a sin-sick soul
Next door to death he found me,
And snatched me from the grave,
To tell all around me
His wond`rous pow`r to save.

The worst of all diseases
Is light compared with sin;
On ev`ry part it seizes,
But rages most within;
`Tis palsy, plague, and fever,
And madness—all combined;
And none, but a believer,
The least relief can find.

From men, great skill professing,
I sought a cure to gain;
But this proved more distressing,
And added to my pain;
Some said that nothing ailed me,
Some gave me up for lost;
Thus ev`ry refuge failed me,
And all my hopes were crossed.

At length this great Physician,
How matchless is His grace!
Accepted my petition,
And undertook my case;
First, gave me sight to view him,
For sin my eyes had sealed—
Then bit me look unto Him;
I looked, and I was healed.

A dying, risen Jesus,
Seen by the eye of faith,
At once from danger frees us,
And saves the soul from death;
Come, then, to this Physician,
His help he`ll freely give,
He makes no hard condition—
To Jesus look and live!
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