Classic Poem

HYMN IX.

When fam'd Bethesda's waters flow'd,
By a descending angel mov'd;
The wondrous pool a sovereign bath
For every pain and sickness prov'd.

Hither distemper'd crouds repair,
Hither the feeble, lame and blind;
The first who steps into the spring,
Leaves his disease and pains behind.

That languishing and dying souls
A nobler cure might freely meet,
The son of God came down and stirr'd
Baptismal waters with his feet.

Lord, 'tis but just we follow thee,
Who didst not scorn to lead the way,
Where we just see the vale of death,
Then view the resurrection-day.

Happy! who haste into the flood
Where healing virtues ever flow,
Where filthy lepers clean are made,
The blind to see, the lame to go:

Where contrite spirits heal their wounds,
And broken hearts assuage their pain;
The dead themselves new life inspires,
They breathe, they move, and rise again.

With lowly minds, and lofty songs,
Let all admire the Saviour's grace,
Till the great rising-day reveal
Th' immortal glory of his face.