W. Garrett Horder, comp. The Poets’ Bible: New Testament. 1895.
St. Luke
John Samuel Bewley Monsell (18111875)W
The pride of life subdues,
And colours all its roseate bloom
With sorrow’s soberer hues:
Beside our bed of pain,
And thoughtful counts the ebbing sands
Which yet for us remain,—
Such comfort to afford,
As best may help the deeper work
Of his Physician Lord!
Diseases to control,
Not only sees a mortal frame
But an immortal soul:
In all God’s wondrous plan,
And sanctifies his healing art
To the best good of man.
With hush’d and awful breath,
He meekly comes to do Thy will,
O Lord of Life and Death:
That he may holier be;
Or feel how well man cannot keep
One ripen’d soul from Thee.
His best degree will prove,
Physician in the schools below
And in Thy school above.
Of those who live to heal
The sicknesses which sin hath made
More might be found, who feel—
And the sick man is giv’n,
Not to be merely kept on earth,
But sanctified for Heav’n.
Let us with special prayer
All those who heal throughout our land
Commend to thy good care.
From sickness at noon-day;
Tho’ thousands by their side may fall,
Drive noisome things away;
In all they think and do,
While truthful to their healing art,
Not unto Thee less true.
By Grace’s soft control
May they become like good St. Luke,
Physicians of the soul!