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BOOK I. 1 PHYSICIAN of my sin-sick soul, To thee I bring my case ; My raging malady control, And heal me by thy grace.

2 Pity the anguish I endure, See how I mourn and pine ; For never can I hope a cure From any hand but thine.

3 I would disclose my whole complaint, But where shall I begin ? No words of mine can fully paint That worst distemper, sin.

4 It lies not in a single part, But through my frame is spread ; A burning fever in my heart, A palsy in my head.

5 It makes me deaf and dumb and blind, And impotent and lame ; It overclouds and fills my mind With folly, fear, and shame.

6 A thousand evil thoughts intrude Tumultuous in my breast ; Which indispose me for my food, And rob me of my rest.

7 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 ?

1 WHEN Jesus claims the sinner s heart, W T here Satan ruled before, The evil spirit must depart, And dares return no more.