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The Touch
The non-forsaking Presence slowly walked
Amid gesticulating throngs that talked
Vociferously,- and it seemed no good
To try approach Him in this multitude.
Yet she must do it when He did pass by,
Though it looked hopeless, but she had to try-
Her last and only opportunity
Hers was despair’s dull pertinacity.
Malignant hemorrhage,- and misery,
Uncleanness, shame, that no one ought to see;
Face pinched and wan and pale from constant pain
The loss of blood had been too much a drain.
On doctors she had spent all of her wealth,
But none could help her, none restored her health;
It was from neighbors that she learned and knew
That Jesus on this day was passing through.
To touch His head would be irreverent,
And too familiar to touch His hand,
She thought about it long, and then she knew
To touch the hemline of His robe would do.
Soon the procession would come round the bend,
Past the bazaars and open stalls and wend
Its way along the twisted little street
And pass the awning’s shelter where she hid.
She would come forward very stealthily
Hid by the crowds or grumpy Pharisee,
Then flick her finger, crouching very low.
To touch, and then retreat, and none would know.
And now they had arrived,- her heart thumped loud
As Jesus walked amidst the noisy crowd,
She stooped and touched the Healer Sovereign,
And shocks electric thrilled her every vein.
“Who touched me?” Jesus asked and turned around
But the disciples only shrugged and found
That in a crowd like this nobody watched
Who crushed and pushed each other and who touched.
But Jesus spotted with a single glance
The nameless women,- bidding her advance-
Her withered frame with health burst suddenly
And trembling she confessed upon her knee.
And love and comfort sweet enwrapped her soul
As Jesus said: ”Your faith has made you whole!
Be freed and rid from plague and from disease
Be comforted - now daughter go in peace”!.
Luke 8.43-48
Mark 5.21-43
Matthew 9.18-26
© Elizabeth Dandy
beautiful