 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
THE POOL OF BETHESDA.
(St. John v. 2–9.)
Tranquil Bethesda's waters lay,
No breeze the surface stirred,
When sudden through the brightening air
A rustling wing was heard;
Then loudly rose the joyous cry:
“The angel of the pool is nigh!”
No breeze the surface stirred,
When sudden through the brightening air
A rustling wing was heard;
Then loudly rose the joyous cry:
“The angel of the pool is nigh!”
Well might they shout, the lame, the blind,
The fevered who had lain
Beside Bethesda's healing wave,
Through many a day of pain;
They knew it was the destined hour
When God would show his pitying power.
The fevered who had lain
Beside Bethesda's healing wave,
Through many a day of pain;
They knew it was the destined hour
When God would show his pitying power.
Then with the selfishness that marks
Deep misery, they rushed
Towards the holy fount that now
With heaven-sent freshness gushed;
For he who first should reach its brink,
New being from its wave might drink.
Deep misery, they rushed
Towards the holy fount that now
With heaven-sent freshness gushed;
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New being from its wave might drink.
But there was one who stirless lay
Upon his weary couch;
Nor sought amid the hurrying crowd
The troubled waters' touch;
But in his bitter sigh was heard
The agony of “hope deferred.”
Upon his weary couch;
Nor sought amid the hurrying crowd
The troubled waters' touch;
But in his bitter sigh was heard
The agony of “hope deferred.”
Almost reproachfully he turned
His eye upon the stream;
When lo! a gentle voice awoke,
Like music in a dream,
So soft, so sweet its accents stole,—
“My brother! wilt thou not be whole?”
His eye upon the stream;
When lo! a gentle voice awoke,
Like music in a dream,
So soft, so sweet its accents stole,—
“My brother! wilt thou not be whole?”
Slowly he turned his feeble frame,
And gazed upon a face
Of more than woman's loveliness,
Of more than kingly grace;
“Alas! in vain my will,” he cried,
“I cannot reach Bethesda's tide.
And gazed upon a face
Of more than woman's loveliness,
Of more than kingly grace;
“Alas! in vain my will,” he cried,
“I cannot reach Bethesda's tide.
“In more than infant feebleness,
Through long and changeless years,
I've lain beside this healing pool
And yet no help appears;
For ere my palsied limbs draw nigh,
The hour of mercy is gone by.”
Through long and changeless years,
I've lain beside this healing pool
And yet no help appears;
For ere my palsied limbs draw nigh,
The hour of mercy is gone by.”
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The Saviour bent his noble form,
A heavenly smile passed o'er
His placid lip: “Arise!” he cried,
“Go hence and sin no more!”
Lo! touched by those almighty hands,
Once more in manhood's strength he stands.
A heavenly smile passed o'er
His placid lip: “Arise!” he cried,
“Go hence and sin no more!”
Lo! touched by those almighty hands,
Once more in manhood's strength he stands.
Surely this deed of wondrous power
A truth to us imparts:
When Heaven's best gifts have not the skill
To heal our broken hearts,
May we not look through faith to thee
Thou first-born of eternity?
A truth to us imparts:
When Heaven's best gifts have not the skill
To heal our broken hearts,
May we not look through faith to thee
Thou first-born of eternity?
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |