Expectant at Bethesda (Benjamin Milgrove)
- Editor: Christopher Shaw (submitted 2012-11-12). Score information: A4, 2 pages, 61 kB Copyright: CC BY SA
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Original text and translations
Expectant at Bethesda lie
The lame, the withered and the blind;
These sons of pain and misery
Wait the propitious hour to find;
When the kind angel from above
Shall the health-giving water move.
Those sons of misery and woe
In us, O gracious Saviour, see,
Halting, nor have we strength to go
In strict conformity to Thee;
Sightless, in vain our eyeballs roll,
And all infirmity the soul.
Yes, 'tis our better part that lies
Exposed to all these mortal ills;
The soul, th'immortal spirit dies,
And Tophet's ceaseless torments feels;
Unless a sov'reign balm we know,
And life from blest Bethesda flow.
Here, Lord, we wait; now move the wave,
The true Bethesda; let us prove
Present a mighty power to save,
The force of Jesu's dying love.
Now let us bathe in mercy's sea,
And find our health, life, all from Thee.