When pining sickness wastes the frame,

When pining sickness wastes the frame,
Acute disease, or tiring pain;
When life fast spends her feeble flame,
And all the help of man proves vain;

Then, then to have recourse to God,
To pour a prayer in time of need,
And feel the balm of Jesus' blood,
This is to find a friend indeed.

And this, O Christian, is thy lot,
Who cleavest to the Lord by faith;
He'll never leave thee (doubt it not)
In pain, in sickness, or in death.

Himself shall be thy helping Friend,
Thy good Physician and thy nurse;
To make thy bed shall condescend,
And from the affliction take the curse.

Should'st thou a moment's absence mourn;
Should some short darkness intervene;
He'll give thee power, till light return,
To trust him, with the cloud between.