Words: , 1868. This hymn was writ­ten in a school class­room. A stu­dent was bu­sy writ­ing an ex­am­in­a­tion, and was long at it. Twells, the in­struct­or, had to stay un­til the fel­low was done. It was late af­ter­noon, and the sun was be­gin­ning to drop be­low the hor­i­zon. As Twells gazed out the win­dow, his thoughts turned to the story of Je­sus heal­ing the sick, and in that set­ting he wrote these words.

Music: Angelus, , Heil­ige Seel­en­lust oder Geistliche Hirten-Lieder (Bres­lau, Ger­ma­ny: 1657) (set to the words Du mein­er Seel­en gül­dne Ziehr).

At even, ere the sun was set,
The sick, O Lord, around Thee lay;
O, with how many pains they met!
O, with what joy they went away!

Once more ’tis eventide, and we,
Oppressed with various ills, draw near;
What if Thyself we cannot see?
We know that Thou art ever near.

O Savior 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 are pressed with worldly care
And some are tried with sinful doubt;
And some such grievous passions tear,
That only Thou canst cast them out.

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 Savior Christ, Thou too art man;
Thou has 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.