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THE POOL OF BETHESDA.

Healing, and strength, and cure for all his woe,
May linger round that sacred fountain's brim ;
Yet all unable he one step to go;

No cure for him!

No friend is watching there, whose anxious love
For him prompt access to the pool can win,
Soon as the angel did the waters move,

Others stepped in!

Oh ye! who idly pass unheeding by,

Knew ye the sickening pang of hope delayed,
Your listless steps would eagerly press nigh,
And give him aid.

Ah! wretched lot, of gnawing want to die,
While smiling plenty mocks us all around;
Or, shipwrecked, watch, as we all helpless lie,
Others home-bound!

Yet sadder far, to him who reads aright
The story of our being's end and aim,
The spirit darkened 'mid surrounding light,
By sin and shame!

To see the impervious clouds of prejudice,

Round which the sunbeams pour their light in vain;

The dead soul, fettered by the films of vice,

Knows not its chain.

THE POOL OF BETHESDA.

Then if thy spirit freedom, knowledge drink,

Bathed in that living fount which maketh pure
Oh! aid thy brother, ere he helpless sink,
To work his cure!

Hopeless, and helpless, vainly did HE turn
For help or pity to the busy throng;

Yet found them both in ONE, whose heart did burn
With love, how strong!

21

Bernard Barton.

321

Bethesda.

AROUND 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 gathered multitude.

Among them there was one whose eye
Had often seen the waters stirred;
Whose heart had often heaved the sigh,
The bitter sigh of hope deferred;
Beholding, while he suffered on,
The healing virtue given-and gone!

No power had he, no friendly aid
To him its timely succor brought,
But, while his coming he delayed,

Another won the boon he sought;
Until the Saviour's love was shown,
Which healed him by a word alone!

BETHESDA.

Had they who watched 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 made them whole.

But habit and tradition swayed

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 surpassed its wave
Is still omnipotent to save.

Saviour! thy love is still the same

As when the healing word was spoke;

Still in thine all-redeeming name

Dwells power to break the strongest yoke!
O! be that power, that love displayed!
Help those whom thou alone canst aid!

Bernard Barton.

323

Christ in the Storm.

And his disciples came to him, and awoke him, saying, "Lord save us: we perish."-ST. MATTHEW Viii. 25.

WHERE deep Tiberias rolls her waves,

The lowly fisher's bark was gliding;

The winds were hushed within their caves;

And gayly on the waters riding,
Was seen the bark of Galilee,

A speck upon that summer sea.

But deep and hollow murmurs came,
That heralded the tempest waking,
The gathering cloud and flickering flame,
And thunders in the distance breaking,
The storm's first drops and fitful breeze,
That curled the bosom of the seas.

And wild and high the billows rose,
Fearful in strength and proudly foaming;
Starting like maniacs from repose,

Or dark and heartless plunderers roaming;