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 to all around me, His wondrous 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 thought 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 under took my case: First gave me sight to view Him, For sin my eyes had sealed; Then bid me look unto Him, I looked, and I was healed.