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'Twas open'd for thy sake,—
"Go wash, and thou art free;"
Oh! how did my proud heart gainsay,—
I fear'd to trust his simple way.

7 At length I trial made,
When I had much endured;
The message I obey'd,—
I wash'd, and I was cured.
Sinners, this healing fountain try,
Which cleansed a wretch so vile as I.

39.
The borrowed Axe.—2 Kings, vi, 5, 6.

1 The prophets' sons in times of old,
Though to appearance poor,
Were rich without possessing gold,
And honour'd though obscure.

2 In peace their daily bread they eat,
By honest labour earn'd;
While daily at Elisha's feet
They grace and wisdom learn'd.

3 The prophet's presence cheer'd their toil,
They watch'd the words he spoke,
Whether they turn'd the furrow'd soil,
Or fell'd the spreading oak.

4 Once as they listen'd to his theme
Their conference was stopp'd;
For one beneath the yielding stream
A borrow'd axe had dropp'd.

5 "Alas! it was not mine," he said;
"How shall I make it good?"
Elisha heard, and when he pray'd,
The iron swam like wood.

6 If God in such a small affair
A miracle performs,
It shows his condescending care
Of poor unworthy worms.