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THE POOL OF BETHESDA.
"Now there is at Jerusalem, by the sheep market, a pool, which is called in the Hebrew tongue, Bethesda, having five porches." John v. 2.
THE aged sufferer waited long
Till hopes, once rising warm and strong,
And heavy were the sighs he drew,
His hope grew dim; but one was nigh
That gentle voice, that pitying eye
Each pang that human weakness knows
He spake, and lo! the sick arose,
Father of Jesus, when oppressed
And, longing for thy heavenly rest,
Oh the Saviour's words of peace
Bid every doubt and suffering cease,
S. G. Bulfinch.
AROUND Bethesda's healing wave,
Among them there was one, whose eye
No power had he; no friendly aid
To him its timely succour brought! But while his coming he delayed,
Another won the boon he sought;
Until THE SAVIOUR's love was shown,
Had they who watched and waited there
But habit and tradition swayed
Their minds to trust to sense alone, They only hoped the Angel's aid; While in their presence stood, unknown, A greater, mightier far than he, With power from every pain to free.
Bethesda's pool has lost its power!
No Angel, by his glad descent, Dispenses that diviner dower
Which with its healing waters went. But He, whose word surpassed its wave, Is still omnipotent to save.
And what that fountain once was found,
While their first freshness they retain ;
Only replete with power to cure
Yet are there who this truth confess,
Confirms the impotent's sad tale;
They hear the sounds of life and love,
Whose touch alone might health supply;
SAVIOUR! thy love is still the same
As when that healing word was spoke; Still in thine all-redeeming NAME
Dwells POWER to burst the strongest yoke! O! be that power, that love display'd,
whom THOU alone cast aid!
"Search the scriptures."
IT is the one True Light,
That, when all other lamps grow dim, Shall never burn less purely bright, Nor lead astray from HIM.
It is Love's blessed band,
That reaches from the eternal throne To him - whoe'er he be whose hand
Will seize it for his own!
It is the Golden Key
To treasures of celestial wealth,
Joy to the sons of poverty,
And to the sick man, health!
The gently proffer'd aid
Of one who knows us-and can best Supply the beings he has made
With what will make them bless'd.
It is the sweetest sound
That infant ears delight to hear, Travelling across that holy ground, With God and angels near.