The cure has begun to spread,

Yet the battle still rages within.

The invader, the hidden disease,

Crept in through my prideful defenses,

A parasite feeding on weakness—

It seized me, heart and mind.

Utterly sick.

Dying,

Even near dead.

I was hopeless—

Living without a prayer,

Rotting, decrepit,

And yet blind in my pride.

In vain I searched for healing

I swallowed bitter potions

That promised health and so much more

Some offered law, some pleasure 

Some numbed the pain with noise

But none could heal the sickness 

None could avert my fate

But then the Good Physician came.

He drained my poisoned blood,

And gave me His—pure, crimson, holy.

He took my stony heart,

And placed within me a living one.

Yet still the battle rages inside.

At times the sickness surges,

The old invader presses on,

And I cry out:

O wretched man that I am!

Who will deliver me

From this body of death?

But the Good Physician answers:

I will finish what I started.

Not one of my patients will be lost.

However long the treatment lasts,

Trust in Me—and Me alone.

Do not be deceived or drawn away,

For no one heals like I do.

You are Mine, and I will see it through—

Until you are whole,

Until you share in My abundant life,

Until you are Mine forever.