 | The Choir and The Oratory |  |
269
THE HEALING TOUCH.
“If I may but touch his garment, I shall be whole.”—Matt. ix. 21.
Not Thy garment's hem alone,
My trembling faith would hold,
Though Divine compassion shone
Beneath its sacred fold.
Thou didst own her mute appeal,
Who besought Thy power to heal.
My trembling faith would hold,
Though Divine compassion shone
Beneath its sacred fold.
Thou didst own her mute appeal,
Who besought Thy power to heal.
Earthly robes which Thou didst wear
Thy glories to enshroud,
Could remedial virtue bear,
To one amid the crowd.
More than mortal health I crave,
Now Thou art enthroned to save.
Thy glories to enshroud,
Could remedial virtue bear,
To one amid the crowd.
More than mortal health I crave,
Now Thou art enthroned to save.
That bright raiment I would seek,
Dyed in the atoning flood,
Which can peace and pardon speak,—
Thy vesture dipped in blood.
Here my hope its refuge holds:
Hide me in its sheltering folds.
Dyed in the atoning flood,
Which can peace and pardon speak,—
Thy vesture dipped in blood.
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Hide me in its sheltering folds.
Mediating Priest above!
My languid spirit faints
For that suit of joy and love,
The righteousness of saints.
Great Redeemer! clothe me in
Robes which Thou hast died to win.
My languid spirit faints
For that suit of joy and love,
The righteousness of saints.
Great Redeemer! clothe me in
Robes which Thou hast died to win.
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