The Bitter Waters

Beside the gospel pool Appointed for the poor; From year to year, my helpless soul Has waited for a cure. How often have I seen The healing waters move; And others, round me, stepping in Their efficacy prove. But my complaints remain, I feel the very same; As full of guilt, and fear, and pain. As when at first I came. O would the Lord appear My malady to heal; He knows how long I've languished here; And what distress I feel. How often have I thought Why should I longer lie? Surely the mercy I have sought Is not for such as I. But whither can I go? There is no other pool Where streams of sovereign virtue flow To make a sinner whole. Here then, from day to day, I'll wait, and hope, and try; Can Jesus hear a sinner pray, Yet suffer him to die? No: he is full of grace; He never will permit A soul, that fain would see his face, To perish at his feet.