1 How long, thou faithful God, shall I
Here on thy ways forgotten lie?
When shall the means of healing be
The channels of thy grace to me?

2 Sinners on every side step in,
And wash away their pain and sin;
But I, an helpless sin-sick soul,
Still ie expiring at the Pool.

3 Thou cov'nant angel swift come down,
To-day thine own appointments crown;
Thy power into the means infuse,
And give them now their sacred use.

4 Thou seest me lying at the Pool.
I would, thou know'st I would be whole;
O let the troubled waters move,
And minister thy healing love.