The Shunemite, oppressed with grief,

When she had lost the son she loved,

Went to Elisha for relief,

Nor vain her application proved.

He sent his servant on before

To lay a staff upon his head;

This he could do, but do no more,

He left him, as he found him, dead.

But when the LORD’S almighty pow’r

Wrought with the prophet’s prayer, and faith,

The mother saw a joyful hour,

She saw her child restored from death.

Thus, like the weeping Shunemite,

For many, dead in sin we grieve;

Now, LORD, display thine arm of might,

Cause them to hear thy voice and live.

Thy preachers bear the staff in vain,

Though at thine own command we go;

LORD, we have tried, and tried again,

We find them dead, and leave them so.

Come then thyself—to every heart

The glory of thy name make known;

The means are our appointed part,

The pow’r and grace are thine alone.