English poem
The Pool of Bethesda
by John Newton (1725–1807)
Beside the gospel pool, Appointed for the poor, From year to year my helpless soul Has waited for a cure.
How often have I seen The healing waters move, And others, round me, stepping in, Their efficacy prove!
But my complaints remain: I feel the very same; As full of guilt and fear and pain As when at first I came.
O would the Lord appear My malady to heal; He knows how long I’ve languish’d here, And what distress I feel.
How often have I thought, Why should I longer lie? Surely the mercy I have sought Is not for such as I?
But whether can I go? There is no other pool Where streams of sovereign virtue flow To make a sinner whole.
Here, then, from day to day, I’ll wait and hope and try; Can Jesus hear a sinner pray, Yet suffer him to die!
No: he is full of grace; He never will permit A soul that fain would see his face To perish at his feet.