Olney Hymns (1840)/Book 1/Hymn 113

113.
Another.

1 Here at Bethesda's pool, the poor,
The wither'd, halt, and blind,
With waiting hearts expect a cure,
And free admittance find.

2 Here streams of wondrous virtue flow,
To heal the sin-sick soul,—
To wash the filthy white as snow,
And make the wounded whole.

3 The dumb break forth in songs of praise,
The blind their sight receive,
The cripple runs in wisdom's ways,
The dead revive and live.

4 Restrain'd to no one case or time,
These waters always move;
Sinners in every age and clime
Their vital influence prove.

5 Yet numbers daily near them lie,
Who meet with no relief;
With life in view they pine and die
In hopeless unbelief.

6 'Tis strange they should refuse to bathe.
And yet frequent the pool;
But none can even wish for faith,
While love of sin bears rule.

7 Satan their consciences has seal'd
And stupifies their thought;
For were they willing to be heal'd,
The cure would soon be wrought.

8 Do thou, dear Saviour, interpose,
Their stubborn wills constrain;
Or else to them the water flows
And grace is preached in vain.