Jesus, grant that balm and heal­ing
In Thy ho­ly wounds I find,
Every hour that I am feel­ing,
Pains of body and of mind.
Should some ev­il thought with­in
Tempt my trea­cher­ous heart to sin,
Show the peril, and from sin­ning
Keep me ere its first be­gin­ning.

Should some lust or sharp temp­ta­tion
Prove too strong for flesh and blood,
Let me think upon Thy pas­sion,
And the breach is soon made good.
Or should Sa­tan press me hard,
Let me then be on my guard,
Saying, Christ for me was wound­ed,
That the temp­ter flee con­found­ed.

If the world my heart en­tic­es
On the broad and ea­sy road
With its mirth and lur­ing vic­es,
Let me think up­on the load
Thou didst car­ry and en­dure
That I flee all thoughts im­pure,
Banishing each wild emo­tion,
Calm and blest in my de­vo­tion.

Every wound that pains or grieves me,
By Thy stripes, Lord, is made whole;
When I’m faint, Thy cross re­vives me,
Granting new life to my soul.
Yea, Thy com­fort ren­ders sweet
Every bit­ter cup I meet;
For Thy all aton­ing pas­sion
Has pro­cured my soul’s sal­va­tion.

O my God, my rock and tow­er,
Grant that in Thy death I trust,
Knowing death has lost his pow­er
Since Thou trodd’st him in the dust.
Savior, let Thine ago­ny
Ever help and com­fort me;
When I die, be my pro­tect­ion,
Light and life and re­sur­rect­ion.