Oft as the le­per’s case I read,
My own des­cribed I feel;
Sin is a lep­ro­sy in­deed,
Which none but Christ can heal.

Awhile I would have passed for well,
And strove my spots to hide;
Till it broke out in­cur­able,
Too plain to be de­nied.

Then from the saints I sought to flee,
And dread­ed to be seen;
I thought they all would point at me,
And cry, Un­clean, un­clean!

What ang­uish did my soul en­dure,
Till hope and pa­tience ceased?
The more I strove my­self to cure,
The more the plague in­creased.

While thus I lay dis­tressed, I saw
The Sav­ior passing by;
To Him, though filled with shame and awe,
I raised my mourn­ful cry.

Lord, Thou canst heal me if Thou wilt,
For Thou canst all things do;
O cleanse my lep­rous soul from guilt,
My fil­thy heart re­new!

He heard, and with a gra­cious look,
Pronounced the heal­ing word,
I will, be clean. And while He spoke
I felt my health re­stored.

Come lep­ers, seize the pre­sent hour,
The Sav­ior’s grace to prove;
He can re­lieve, for He is pow­er,
He will, for He is love.