Poems (Kimball)/The Communion of the Sick
THE COMMUNION OF THE SICK.
O PRIEST beloved! a favored guest, Bidden of thee, how oft I kneel Where some poor sufferer distressed Looks to thy hand to soothe and heal!
His sacramental coming there God's messenger of pain precedes, The shadowed chamber to prepare, And fit it for the Master's needs.
"Arise and walk," thou dost not say, But thou the Bread of Life dost break To strengthen souls upon their way, Their thirst with Wine immortal slake.
The humble table by the bed, Followed sometimes by dying eyes, How often have I seen thee spread, And offer there the sacrifice.
How often from thy reverent hands Received the Manna veiled from view; Then by the sick one seen thee stand And feed him with that Manna true.
How often when the gracious Cup From me has passed, have I beheld Thee lift the weary sufferer up To drink the hidden stream that welled!
How often have I seen the face Beneath thy blessing brighter grow When the poor soul received the peace Thou art commissioned to bestow!
And ever springs this thought of mine: Jesus, how gracious Thou to come Not only to Thy temple's shrine But even to the meanest home!
And who am I, that unto me Occasions fall that others miss? But, Lord, my need is known to Thee Thy answer must be hid in this!
O priest beloved! to Him I owe For these unwonted hours of grace Such love as deeds can never show; Pray that my love may grow apace!
To follow on thy lowly rounds, Oh, pray that I may worthier be, And where Christ's suffering ones are found Still, for His sake, make room for me.