Come, Lord, come quick­ly from above,
The object of Thy bleed­ing love
Is sick, and wants Thine aid;
Lover of ev­ery help­less soul,
O let Thy pi­ty make him whole,
Whose mind on Thee is stayed.

His on­ly trust is in Thy blood,
Thou sinner’s ad­vo­cate with God,
Thou all-aton­ing Lamb;
The vir­tue of Thy death im­part,
Speak com­fort to his droop­ing heart,
And tell him all Thy name.

Give Him Thy par­don­ing love to feel,
And free­ly his back­slid­ing heal,
Repair his faith’s de­cay;
Restore the sweet­ness of Thy grace,
Reveal the glo­ries of Thy face,
And take his sins away.

Speak, Lord, and let him find Thee near,
O bid him now be of good cheer,
Declare his sins for­giv’n;
Return, Thou Prince of Peace, re­turn
Thou Com­fort­er of all that mourn,
And take him up to Heav’n.