Is there no balm in Gilead, then?
Is there no Healer nigh?
No freshening spring to cheer the waste
So desolate and dry?

And seems thy soul farsaken now,
Her every blessing flown?
No soothing for her sorrow sore,
No place to make her moan?

Yet stay: the cross thou bearest thus
Hath first been borne for thee;
Thy Lord himself did hang thereon,
Thy life and cure to be.

Is there no balm in Gilead, then?
Is there no Healer night?
Why, then, thy tears and guilty fears?
Why, brother, sinner, why?

For thine own soul he bare it all,
The scourge and piercing thron,
The nailing and the bruising, too,
The hatred, shame and scorn;

Upon his cross he yearned for thee,
For thee his heartstrings brake;
Himself of all forseaken, yet he
Could not thee forsake.

Then evermore, when sorrows sore
Thine inmost spirit wring,
Say, My Belov'd is crucified
And I to Him will cling.

Is there no balm in Gilead, then?
Is there no Healer night?
Why, then, thy tears and guilty fears?
Why, brother, sinner, why?

He is a shelter from the storm
When winds and waves arise,
A shadow in the scorching noon,
A light in starless skies.

A staff upon the rugged road,
A Shield when foes assail,
A Charm divine against whose might
No evil can prevail;

For where the cross of Jesus is
Is peace and there alone,
Beneath the banner of his love
He gathereth his own.

Is there no balm in Gilead, then?
Is there no Healer night?
Why, then, thy tears and guilty fears?
Why, brother, sinner, why?

Is aught too wearisome or hard
For Jesus' sake to bear?
While he is crowned with thorns,
Wilt thou a crown of roses wear?

Draw near, thou reft and drooping heart,
Draw near and lift thy gaze,
To Him who yearns with outstretched arms
Thee from thy grief to raise.

In Jesus' cross and passion find
The refuge of the soul,
Find there a balm, a Healer there,
Who waits to make thee whole.

Is there no balm in Gilead, then?
Is there no Healer night?
Why, then, thy tears and guilty fears?
Why, brother, sinner, why?