Heal Us, Emmanuel, Here We Are, Waiting To Feel Thy Touch: Deep-Wounded Souls To Thee Repair, And, Saviour, We Are Such. Our Faith Is Feeble, We Confess, We Faintly Trust Thy Word; But Wilt Thou Pity Us The Less? Be That Far From Thee, Lord! Remember Him Who Once Applied, With Trembling, For Relief; 'Lord, I Believe,' With Tears He Cried,[1] 'Oh, Help My Unbelief!' She Too, Who Touch'D Thee In The Press, And Healing Virtue Stole, Was Answer'D, 'Daughter, Go In Peace,[2] Thy Faith Hath Made Thee Whole.' Conceal'D Amid The Gathering Throng, She Would Have Shunn'D Thy View; And If Her Faith Was Firm And Strong, Had Strong Misgivings Too. Like Her, With Hopes And Fears We Come, To Touch Thee, If We May; Oh! Send Us Not Despairing Home, Send None Unheal'D Away.