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THE COMMUNION OF THE SICK.
49
How often when the gracious Cup
From me has passed, have I beheld
Thee lift the weary sufferer up
To drink the hidden stream that welled!

How often have I seen the face
Beneath thy blessing brighter grow
When the poor soul received the peace
Thou art commissioned to bestow!

And ever springs this thought of mine:
Jesus, how gracious Thou to come
Not only to Thy temple's shrine
But even to the meanest home!

And who am I, that unto me
Occasions fall that others miss?
But, Lord, my need is known to Thee
Thy answer must be hid in this!

O priest beloved! to Him I owe
For these unwonted hours of grace
Such love as deeds can never show;
Pray that my love may grow apace!

To follow on thy lowly rounds,
Oh, pray that I may worthier be,
And where Christ's suffering ones are found
Still, for His sake, make room for me.