Hymn 17
At even, ere the sun was set
L’oju alẹ, ‘gbat ‘orùn wọ̀
- At even, ere the sun was set,
The sick, O Lord, around Thee lay;
Oh, in what divers pain they met!
Oh, which what joy they went away! - Once more ’its eventide, and we,
Oppress’d with various ills, draw near;
What if Thy form we cannot see?
We know and feel that Thou art here. - O Saviour Christ, our woes dispel;
For some are sick, and some are sad;
And some have never loved Thee well,
And some have lost the love they had. - And some have found the world is vain,
Yet from the world they break not free;
And some have friends who give them pain,
Yet have not sought a friend in Thee. - And none, O Lord, have perfect rest,
For none are wholly free from sin;
And they, who fain would serve Thee best
Are conscious most of wrong within. - O Saviour Christ, Thou too art Man;
Thou hast been troubled, tempted, tried;
Thy kind but searching glance can scan
The very wounds that shame would hide. - Thy touch has still its ancient power.
No word from Thee can fruitless fall;
Hear, in this solemn evening hour,
And in Thy mercy heal us all. Amen.