THE paths of pain are thine. Go forth
With healing and with hope;
The suffering of a sin-sick earth
Shall give thee ample scope.
Smite down the dragons fell and strong,
Whose breath is fever fire;
No knight of table or of song
Encountered foes more dire.
The holiest task by heaven decreed.
An errand all divine,
The burden of our mortal need
To render less is thine.
No crusade thine for cross or grave.
But for the living man.
Go forth to succor and to save
All that thy skilled hands can.
Before the unveiled mysteries
Of life and death, go stand
With guarded lips and reverent eyes
And pure of heart and hand.
So shalt thou be with power endued
For Him who went about
The Syrian hill-paths, doing good
And casting devils out.
That holy Helper liveth yet,
Thy friend and guide to be;
The Healer by Gennesaret
Shall walk the rounds with thee!
By: John Greenleaf Whittier
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