"Oh! where is He, the Master, who, ye say,
Hath healed so many sick and sore distress'd?
I, too, am ill: why bid me yet delay?
He never can refuse my poor request.
'Have I such faith?' Yes, surely, God's own Son
Hath power divine to heal and cleanse the
soul:
E'en healing blessings thro' His garments run.
If I but touch the hem I shall be whole.
"I see His face, so radiant and divine,
Above the crowd that lists His gracious word.
Oh! let me nearer: I would call Him mine;
Would worship at the feet of my dear Lord.
He sees me not, so many round Him press,
But I will kneel, and, stretching out my hands,
Perhaps may touch the hemming of His dress,
And so receive the blessing Faith demands."
"'Who touched Thee, Master? Seest not the
crowd
That throng about Thee? 'Nay; 'twas none
of these:'
'Twas Faith and Love beneath a humble cloud;
A soul that burst the fetters of disease.
"Ah! woman, it is thou! Shrink not away;
Be of good cheer: in peace, go seek thy
friends;
Thy faith hath made thee whole without delay;
E'en now thy sin departs, thy suff'ring ends."
