  “They shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.” Forth from a region of shadowless calm, Forth from a garden of spices and balm, Came a bright angel, an angel of love, Tenderly bearing a beautiful dove; Soft as the dew-drops his feet pressed the sod, So softly no blossom was bruised as he trod. Down through the realms of the blue summer air, Floated the angel so gentle and fair— Down to the grief-stricken bosom of earth, Whose children must suffer and sin from their birth— Down where the tears of the mourner are shed, And wailings of sorrow are heard for the dead. One moment he listened, as voices of pain Came up from the hill-side, the valley and plain; For comfort and healing, for hope and relief. “God, help me,” he murmured, soft breathing and low, “To heal all your anguish, ye children of woe.” Then he folded a child to his cherishing breast, And tenderly hushed its complainings to rest. He kissed the pale lids of a mourner’s sad eyes, Till she saw the fair home of her loved in the skies. And sorrow, and anguish, and pain, and distress, Fled away where he entered to comfort and bless. At length came a mortal, who sought to find rest From the hopes and the longings that strove in his breast; For all that the world with its wealth could impart, Had failed to bring comfort and peace to his heart. “O, grant my petition, fair angel,” he cried. “What wouldst thou, O mortal?” the angel replied. “I ask not for wealth, which would make me a slave; I ask not a name, to be lost at the grave; I ask not for glory, for honor, or power; Or freedom from care through my life’s little hour— But I ask that the gift which hath made thee divine, Of comfort, and healing, and strength, may be mine.” Then the angel uplifted a chalice most fair, Which seemed to be filled with a balm-breathing air, And a chrism outpoured on the suppliant’s head, Whose fragrance like soft wreathing incense out-*spread. “Go forth,” said the angel, “thy mission fulfill, With faith in the heart, which gives strength to the will.” Then lo! in an instant the angel had flown, And left the glad mortal in silence, alone; But a token was given that his mission was blest, When the dove fluttered down and reposed in his breast; Float downward to him who should stand in his place. O Helper! O Healer! whoever thou art, Let love, like an angel, abide in thy heart. Let mercy plead low for the sinful and wrong, Let might, born of justice and right, make thee strong; Then Help shall descend at thy call from above, And peace in thy bosom shall rest like a dove. |
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