I went to the house of the sick and the dying,
Where the stricken with fever together were lying,
And the porter turned up to the name in the book
Which I asked for, and said, with a pitiful look—
“Very ill; may be visited!—that is the order,
And you know well your way, round by you garden border.”
So I followed that way to the bedside of one
Who had Lately confessed to the Lord as her own.
The limbs were all feeble, the forehead was aching,
And sleep—so desired—was the eyelids forsaking.
I asked her if then there was one little word
In her heart, as she mused on her Saviour and Lord.
“Yes; oh, yes!” she replied, “for His love changeth never—
Jesus Christ the same yester, to-day, and for ever!”
What a pillow, I thought, for a heart that is aching,
As a view of the scene I was silently taking.
There were burdened in heart, there were light in the head,
And the little one put, with its doll, into bed.
The new patients coming, the old patients leaving,
The night-nurse the vigils of day-nurse relieving;
But in One was no change, though unseen yet not hid,
He whose visits, at all times, no rules may forbid;
The One who once died, but for ever now liveth,
The Saviour of each who in Him but believeth,
Who taketh the little ones up in His arms,
And rescues the aged from all their alarms;
From whom death, life, height, depth, nor aught creature can sever—
Jesus Christ, the same yester, to-day, and for ever.