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CHRIST HEALING THE SICK.

Giver of health and life,

Where, but to thee, can pain and sorrow go,
Amidst the weary strife,

The fitful fever, and the maddening throe,
Which wring the bosom in this world of woe?
Oh thou, of all, the meekest and the best,
Where, but with thee, can the sad heart find rest?

Calmly thou standest there:

The temple's arches vast are swelling round:
Thy presence fills the air

With holy radiance and with peace profound,
And bids an influence, as of hope, abound;
On thee the languid eye in trust is turned,
Where late the baleful fires of frenzy burned.

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On thee the mother bends

Her tearful glance, and checks the rising sigh
Which on her hope attends,

As to the Lord she draweth fondly nigh,
And meets the light of his benignant eye;
She clasps her breathing infant to her breast-
She marks the power of Jesus-and is blest.

And they who linger near,

With friends in sickness yet more fondly loved— Betwixt a smile and tear

Gaze on the Saviour, and with faith are moved To see the wonders of his kindness proved; Around his robes they cling-the faint reviveThe stings of pain are quenched—the dying live.

The face, that wore but now

The settled paleness of the suffering hour,

Reclaims its healthful glow;

The red lip, faltering, speaks of heavenly power, While crystal tears descend—a grateful shower; Watering the damask cheek, that changed so soon, Like some fair lily to a rose of June.

'Tis done, and from the crowd

Sweet voices, filled with joy and thanks, arise-
The healed ones sing aloud;

And like rich incense, soaring to the skies,
Ascend the anthems of their glad surprise:
The lame, the blind are healed, the sick restored,
And with rejoicing hearts they praise the LORD.
W. G. C.

PHILADELPHIA.

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