Poems (Barker)/Faith (A poor boy lay in a hospital ward)
For works with similar titles, see Faith.
Faith.
A poor boy lay in a hospital ward, And his heavy eyes were dim,He knew that the angel of death was there, Patiently waiting for him.
T'was a poor maimed form, and he moaned with pain, When a little comrade cameAnd bending above the dying bed He quickly breathed his name!
"Say Bobbie say, have you ever heard Of Jesus, who gives us rest?If we only ask, it is ours you know, For he does what is right and best."
The eager eyes for a moment turned "I never heard," said he,"But I cannot go, for I'm dying Jim, So what is the use to me?"
"But Bobbie listen, for it may be That He will come this way,And then you'll ask him to give you rest, To give you rest to-day."
"But Jiminie I cannot keep awake So he can hear my cry,For I shall be so sound asleep When Jesus passes bye."
"But Bobbie listen! He'll give you rest And you're so tired and weak,Hold up your hand, He'll come this way E'en if you do not speak."
The little hand was gently raised, He dropped it with a sigh,"It aint no use—I am too weak They say I'm going to die."
"O, Bobbie let me prop it up! I want you to find restAnd love and mercy, both they say Are warm in Jesus breast.
"I've got my pillow, Bobbie dear, Your hand is plain in sight,I've propped it up so He can see If He comes by to-night."
The morning came, the sun began Its journey to the west,When Jimmie stole to Bobbie's bed To hear him speak of rest.
The little hand was still held up, And that unspoken cry,Had reached the Saviour's loving ears For "Jesus had passed by."
Upon the forehead still and white, And on the pulseless breast,A gentle hand had touched the child And Bobbie had found rest.