A ROUND Bethesda's healing wave,
Waiting to hear the rustling wing
Which spoke the angel nigh who gave
Its virtue to that holy spring,
With patience, and with hope endued,
Were seen the gather'd multitude.

Among them there was one, whose eye
Had often seen the waters stirr'd;
Whose heart had often heaved the sigh,
The bitter sigh of hope deferr'd;
Beholding, while he suffer'd on,
The healing virtue given — and gone.

No power had he; no friendly aid
To him its timely succour brought;
But, while his coming he delay'd,
Another won the boon he sought;
Until the Saviour's love was shown,
Which heal'd him by a word alone!

Had they who watch'd and waited there
Been conscious who was passing by,
With what unceasing, anxious care
Would they have sought his pitying eye;
And craved, with fervency of soul,
His power Divine to make them whole!

But habit and tradition sway'd
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 surpass'd its wave,
Is still omnipotent to save.

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,
Help those whom thou alone canst aid!