Life to her no brightness brought,
Pale and striken was her brow,
Till a bright and joyous thought
Lit the darkness of her woe.
Long had sickness on her preyed,
Strength from every nerve had gone;
Skill and art could give no aid:
Thus her weary life passed on.
Like a sad and mournful dream,
Daily felt she life depart,
Hourly knew the vital stream
Left the fountain of her heart.
He who lull'd the storm to rest,
Cleans'd the lepers, raised the dead,
Whilst a crowd around him press'd,
Near that suffering one did tread.
Nerv'd by blended hope and fear,
Reasoned thus her anxious heart;
¢If to touch him I draw near,
All my suffering shall depart.
"While the crowd around him stand,
I will touch," the sufferer said;
Forth she reached her timid hand—
As she touched her sickness fled.
"Who hath touched me?" Jesus cried;
"Virtue from my body's gone."
From the crowd a voice replied,
"Why inquire in such a throng?"
Faint with fear through every limb,
Yet too grateful to deny,
Tremblingly she knelt to him,
"Lord!" she answered it was I!"
Kindly, gently, Jesus said—
Words like balm unto her soul—
"Peace upon thy life be shed!
Child! thy faith has made thee whole!"