1 Go the pillow of disease,
Where night gives no repose,
And on the cheek where sickness preys
Bid health to plant the rose.
2 Go where the friendless stranger lies;
To perish is his doom;
Snatch from the grave his closing eyes,
And bring his blessing home.
3 Thus what our heavenly Father gave
Shall we as freely give;
Thus copy him who lived to save,
And died that we might live.
|First Line:||Go to the pillow of disease|