The waters of Bethesda's pool
Were to the outward eye as clear,
And to the outward touch as cool,
Before the visitant drew near

But, while untroubled, they possess'd
No healing virtue: — gentle friend,
Is there no fount within the breast
To which an angel may descend?

O, while the soul unruffled lies
Its mirror only can display,
However beautiful their dyes,
The forms of things that pass away.

But when its troubled waters own
A Saviour's presence — in the wave
The healing power of grace is known,
And found omnipotent to save.

A glimpse of glories far more bright
Than earth can give is mirror'd there;
And perfect purity and light
The presence of its God declare.