AROUND Bethesda’s healing wave,
Waiting to hear the waters move,
Which spoke the angel nigh who gave
Their healing virtues from above,
With earnest, fix’d solicitude
Were seen the afflicted multitude.
Among them there was one whose eye
Had often seen the waters stirr’d;
Whose heart had often heav’d the sigh,
The bitter sigh of hope deferr’d;
Beholding, while he suffer’d on,
The healing virtue giv’n — and gone.
No power had he, no friendly aid
To him its timely succor 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 with 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 crav’d with fervency of soul
His sov’reign power to make them whole.
But habit and tradition sway’d
Their minds to trust to sense alone;
They only sought the angel’s aid,
While in their presence stood unknown
A greater, mightier far than he,
With pow’r from ev’ry 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.
Barton.