| Here at Bethesda’s pool, the poor,The withered, halt, and blind;
 With waiting hearts expect a cure,
 And free admittance find.
 Here streams of wondrous virtue flowTo heal a sin-sick soul;
 To wash the filthy white as snow,
 And make the wounded whole.
 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!
 Restrained to no one case, or time,These waters always move;
 Sinners, in every age and clime,
 Their vital influence prove.
 Yet numbers daily near them lie,Who meet with no relief;
 With life in view they pine and die
 In hopeless unbelief.
 ’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.
 Satan their consciences has sealed,And stupefied their thought;
 For were they willing to be healed,
 The cure would soon be wrought.
 Do Thou, dear Savior, interpose,Their stubborn wills constrain;
 Or else to them the water flows,
 And grace is preached in vain.
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