O sweet Jesus, soul’s physician
See and weigh the dire condition
Of my soul’s wounds so profound!
Of my sorely troubled mind!
Of the floods that my eyes blind
Rising from my heart’s own ground!
But if all my wounds and sighs
Fail your heart to open prise,
Then, O heart of Jesus, view
Your own wounds and deep-gashed side,
And death’s savage streams so wide,
Where such pain and woe you knew!
Solace then you’ll bring my soul,
Speak these words that me console:
I’ll restore what sin’s debased!
No more shall you feel pain’s dart
In your sorely wounded heart
Once I wound on wound have placed!