The Healer

To a young physician, with Dore's picture of Christ healing the sick.     So stood of old the holy Christ     Amidst the suffering throng;     With whom His lightest touch sufficed     To make the weakest strong.     That healing gift He lends to them     Who use it in His name;     The power that filled His garment's hem     Is evermore the same.     For lo! in human hearts unseen     The Healer dwelleth still,     And they who make His temples clean     The best subserve His will.     The holiest task by Heaven decreed,     An errand all divine,     The burden of our common need     To render less is thine.     The paths of pain are thine. Go forth     With patience, trust, and hope;     The sufferings of a sin-sick earth     Shall give thee ample scope.     Beside the unveiled mysteries     Of life and death go stand,     With guarded lips and reverent eyes     And pure of heart and hand.     So shalt thou be with power endued     From Him who went about     The Syrian hillsides doing good,     And casting demons out.     That Good Physician liveth yet     Thy friend and guide to be;     The Healer by Gennesaret     Shall walk the rounds with thee