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THE PHYSICIAN
37
Rise, Thou Dayspring, and afar
Bid the shadows flee!
Jesu, Thou art swift to bless,
Strong to comfort, skilled to heal;
Failure is with Thee success,
Woe the forerunner of weal;
Every stroke is a caress,
Every crust a meal.
Master, Thou canst raise the dead
From the grave, the bed, the bier,[1]
