Explore "The Healer" by George MacDonald on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
They come to thee, the halt, the maimed, the blind, / The devil-torn, the sick, the sore; / Thy heart their well of life they find, / Thine ear their open door.
Ah, who can tell the joy in Palestine -- / What smiles and tears of rescued throngs!
Their lees of life were turned to wine, / Their prayers to shouts and songs!
The story dear our wise men fable call, / Give paltry facts the mighty range; / To me it seems just what should fall, / And nothing very strange.
But were I deaf and lame and blind and sore, / I scarce would care for cure to ask; / Another prayer should haunt thy door -- / Set thee a harder task.
If thou art Christ, see here this heart of mine, / Torn, empty, moaning, and unblest!
Had ever heart more need of thine, / If thine indeed hath rest?
Thy word, thy hand right soon did scare the bane / That in their bodies death did breed; / If thou canst cure my deeper pain / Then art thou lord indeed.