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THE MIRACULOUS DRAUGHT.

None lose by the Saviour; once more at thy word

The nets are extended beneath the blue sea; The tribes of the wide weltering waves own their Lord, And hasten to pay their allegiance to thee.

C. East.

The Pool of Bethesda.

Jesus saith unto him, "Rise, take up thy bed, and walk." And immediately the man was made whole, and took up his bed and walked.-ST. JOHN v. 8, 9.

PALE, weary watcher by Bethesda's pool,

From dewy morn, to silent glowing eve;
While round thee play the freshening breezes cool,
Why wilt thou grieve?

Listen! and thou shalt hear the unearthly tread
Of heaven's bright herald passing swiftly by,
O'er the calm pool his healing wing to spread:
Why wilt thou die?

At his approach, once more the troubled wave
Leaps gushing into life, its torpor gone;
Once more called forth its boasted power to save,
Which else had none!

Ah! then his spirits feel a deeper grief,
When o'er the rippling surface healing flows;

His wasted limbs experience no relief;

No help he knows!

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THE POOL OF BETHESDA.

Healing, and strength, and cure for all his woe,
May linger round that sacred fountain's brim;
Yet all unable he one step to go;

No cure for him!

No friend is watching there, whose anxious love
For him prompt access to the pool can win,
Soon as the angel did the waters move,

Others stepped in!

Oh ye! who idly pass unheeding by,

Knew ye the sickening pang of hope delayed,
Your listless steps would eagerly press nigh,
And give him aid.

Ah! wretched lot, of gnawing want to die,
While smiling plenty mocks us all around;
Or, shipwrecked, watch, as we all helpless lie,
Others home-bound!

Yet sadder far, to him who reads aright
The story of our being's end and aim,
The spirit darkened 'mid surrounding light,
By sin and shame!

To see the impervious clouds of prejudice,

Round which the sunbeams pour their light in vain ;

The dead soul, fettered by the films of vice,

Knows not its chain.

THE POOL OF BETHESDA.

Then if thy spirit freedom, knowledge drink,

Bathed in that living fount which maketh pure
Oh! aid thy brother, ere he helpless sink,
To work his cure!

Hopeless, and helpless, vainly did HE turn
For help or pity to the busy throng;

Yet found them both in ONE, whose heart did burn
With love, how strong!

21

Bernard Barton.

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Bethesda.

AROUND Bethesda's healing wave,

Waiting to hear the rustling wing Which spoke the angel nigh, who gave Its virtue to that holy spring, With patience and with hope endued, Were seen the gathered multitude.

Among them there was one whose eye
Had often seen the waters stirred;
Whose heart had often heaved the sigh,
The bitter sigh of hope deferred;
Beholding, while he suffered on,
The healing virtue given-and gone!

No power had he, no friendly aid
To him its timely succor brought,
But, while his coming he delayed,

Another won the boon he sought;
Until the Saviour's love was shown,
Which healed him by a word alone!