HEALING.
Heal me, O Lord, and I shall be healed: save me, and I shall be saved: for Thou art my praise.—Jeremiah, xvii. 14.
But unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteousness arise with healing in his wings; and ye shall go forth, and grow up as calves of the stall.—Malachi, iv. 2.
And when Jesus was entered into Capernaum, there came unto Him a centurian, beseeching Him,
And saying, Lord, my servant lieth at home sick of the palsy, grievously tormented.
And Jesus saith unto him, I will come and heal him.—Matthew, viii. 5, 6, 7.
Now there is at Jerusalem by the sheep-market a pool, which is called in the Hebrew tongue Bethesda, having five porches.
In these lay a great multitude of impotent folk, of blind, halt, withered, waiting for the moving of the water.
For an angel went down at a certain season into the pool, and troubled the water: whosoever then first after the troubling of the water stepped in, was made whole of whatsoever disease he had.—John, v. 2, 3, 4.
Around Bethesda’s healing wave,
Waiting to hear the rustling wing
Which spoke the angel nigh, who gave
Its virtues to the holy spring,—
With earnest, fixed solicitude,
Were seen the afflicted multitude.
Among them there was one whose eye
Had often seen the waters stirred;
Whose heart had often heaved the sigh—
The bitter sigh of hope deferred;
Beholding, while he suffered on,
The healing virtue giv’n and gone;
No pow’r had he; no friendly aid
To him the timely succour brought;
But while his coming he delayed,
Another won the boon he sought;
Until the Saviour’s love was shown,
Which healed him by a word alone.
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.
B. Barton.
Oh! Thou who driest the mourner’s tear,
How dark this world would be,
If, when deceived, and wounded here,
We could not fly to Thee!
The friends who in our sunshine live,
When winter comes are flown,
And he who has but tears to give,
May weep those tears alone.
But Thou wilt heal the broken heart,
Which like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathe sweetness out of woe.
Moore.
Dread Omnipotence alone,
Can heal the wound He gave;
Can point the brim-full, grief-worn eyes,
To scenes beyond the grave.
Burns.
Thus ever in the steps of grief,
Are sown the precious seeds of joy;
Each fount of Marah hath a leaf,
Whose healing balm we may employ.
Then, ’mid life’s fitful, fleeting day,
Look up! the sky is bright above!
Kind voices cheer thee on thy way!
Faint spirit! trust the God of Love!
Miss A. D. Woodbridge.
Heal me, for my flesh is weak;
Heal me, for thy grace I seek;
This my only plea I make,
Heal me for thy mercy’s sake.
Lyte.
Thou cam’st with healing on thy wings,
Oh, gentle gale of spring!
Like one that some sweet message brings
Of hope and comforting;
So with a power to heal the smart
Of sin, comes grace unto the heart.
Egone.