Текст оригинала на английском языке
A Sick Soul
Physician of my sin-sick soul, To thee I bring my case; My raging malady control, And heal me by thy grace. Pity the anguish I endure, See how I mourn and pine; For never can I hope a cure From any hand but thine. I would disclose my whole complaint, But where shall I begin? No words of mine can fully paint That worst distemper, sin. It lies not in a single part, But through my frame is spread; A burning fever in my heart, A palsy in my head. It makes me deaf, and dumb, and blind, And impotent and lame; And overclouds, and fills my mind, With folly, fear, and shame. A thousand evil thoughts intrude Tumultuous in my breast; Which indispose me for my food, And rob me of my rest. Lord I am sick, regard my cry, And set my spirit free; Say, canst thou let a sinner die, Who longs to live to thee?
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