Bethesda is open, the angel has come,
The Spirit is calling for thee;
The waters are troubled, behold, there is room;
Salvation through Jesus is free.

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Salvation is free, salvation is free,
Salvation through Jesus is free;
The waters are troubled, behold, there is room,
Bethesda is open for thee.

Come press to the waters while mercy is here,
Accept of a cleansing complete;
O, hear the entreaty, dismissing your fear;
Lo, judgment and mercy now meet.

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The house of Bethesda for sinners was built,
The pool is a fountain of love;
The waters are troubled for canceling guilt,
And still for our healing they move.

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Here at Bethesda’s pool, the poor,
The withered, halt, and blind;
With waiting hearts expect a cure,
And free admittance find.

Here streams of wondrous virtue flow
To heal a sin-sick soul;
To wash the filthy white as snow,
And make the wounded whole.

The dumb break forth in songs of praise,
The blind their sight receive;
The cripple runs in wisdom’s ways,
The dead revive, and live!

Restrained to no one case, or time,
These waters always move;
Sinners, in every age and clime,
Their vital influence prove.

Yet numbers daily near them lie,
Who meet with no relief;
With life in view they pine and die
In hopeless unbelief.

’Tis strange they should refuse to bathe,
And yet frequent the pool;
But none can even wish for faith,
While love of sin bears rule.

Satan their consciences has sealed,
And stupefied their thought;
For were they willing to be healed,
The cure would soon be wrought.

Do Thou, dear Savior, interpose,
Their stubborn wills constrain;
Or else to them the water flows,
And grace is preached in vain.

Beside the Gospel pool
Appointed for the poor;
From year to year, my helpless soul
Has waited for a cure.

How often have I seen
The healing waters move;
And others, round me, stepping in
Their efficacy prove.

But my complaints remain,
I feel the very same;
As full of guilt, and fear, and pain.
As when at first I came.

O would the Lord appear
My malady to heal;
He knows how long I’ve languished here;
And what distress I feel.

How often have I thought
Why should I longer lie?
Surely the mercy I have sought
Is not for such as I.

But whither can I go?
There is no other pool
Where streams of sovereign virtue flow
To make a sinner whole.

Here then, from day to day,
I’ll wait, and hope, and try;
Can Jesus hear a sinner pray,
Yet suffer him to die?

No: He is full of grace;
He never will permit
A soul, that fain would see His face,
To perish at His feet.

Soul of Jesus, make me whole,
Meek and contrite make my soul;
Thou most stainless Soul divine,
Cleanse this sordid soul of mine,
Hallow this my contrite heart,
Purify my every part;
Soul of Jesus, hallow me,
Miserere Domine.

Save me, body of my Lord,
Save a sinner, vile, abhorred;
Sacred body, wan and worn,
Bruised and mangled, scourged and torn,
Piercèd hands and feet and side,
Rent, insulted, crucified:
Save me: to the cross I flee,
Miserere Domine.

Blood of Jesus, stream of life,
Sacred stream with blessings rife,
From the broken body shed
On the cross, that altar dread;
Giv’n to be our drink divine,
Fill my heart and make it thine;
Blood of Christ, my succor be,
Miserere Domine.

Holy water, stream that poured
From Thy riven side, O Lord,
Wash thou me without, within,
Cleanse me from the taint of sin,
Till my soul is clean and white,
Bathed and purified and bright
As a ransomed soul should be,
Miserere Domine.

Jesus, by the wondrous power
Of Thine awful passion hour,
By the unimagined woe
Mortal man may never know;
By the curse upon Thee laid,
By the ransom Thou hast paid,
By Thy passion comfort me,
Miserere Domine.

Jesus, by Thy bitter death,
By Thy last expiring breath,
Give me the eternal life,
Purchased by that mortal strife;
Thou didst suffer death that I
Might not die eternally;
By Thy dying quicken me,
Miserere Domine.

Miserere, let me be
Never parted, Lord, from Thee;
Guard me from my ruthless foe,
Save me from eternal woe;
When the hour of death is near,
And my spirit faints for fear,
Call me with Thy voice of love,
Place me near to Thee above,
With Thine angel host to raise
An undying song of praise,
Miserere Domine.

Hear the footsteps of Jesus,
He is now passing by,
Bearing balm for the wounded,
Healing all who apply;
As He spake to the suff’rer
Who lay at the pool,
He is saying this moment,
“Wilt thou be made whole?”

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Wilt thou be made whole?
Wilt thou be made whole?
O come, weary suff’rer,
O come, sin-sick soul;
See the life-stream is flowing,
See the cleansing waves roll,
Step into the current and thou shalt be whole.

’Tis the voice of that Savior,
Whose merciful call
Freely offers salvation
To one and to all;
He is now beck’ning to Him
Each sin-tainted soul,
And lovingly asking,
“Wilt thou be made whole?”

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Are you halting and struggling,
Overpowr’d by your sin,
While the waters are troubled
Can you not enter in?
Lo, the Savior stands waiting
To strengthen your soul;
He is earnestly pleading,
“Wilt thou be made whole?”

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Blessčd Savior, assist us
To rest on Thy Word;
Let the soul healing power
On us now be outpoured;
Wash away every sin-spot,
Take perfect control,
Say to each trusting spirit,
“Thy faith makes thee whole.”

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