Scripture Verse

When Jesus was come into Peter’s house, He saw his wife’s mother laid, and sick of a fever. And He touched her hand, and the fever left her: and she arose, and ministered unto them. Mark 8:14–15

Introduction

portrait
Ada R. Gibbs (1864–1905)

Words: Ed­ith G. Cher­ry (1872–1897).

Music: Ada R. Gibbs (1864–1905) (🔊 pdf nwc).

portrait
Edith G. Cherry (1872–1897)

Lyrics

He touched her hand and the fe­ver left her;
He touched her hand as on­ly He can,
With the won­drous skill of the Great Phy­si­cian,
With the ten­der touch of the Son of Man;
And the eyes, when the fe­ver-light had faded,
Looked up, by her grate­ful tears made dim;
And she rose and min­is­tered in His house­hold,
She rose and min­is­tered un­to Him.

Ah! ma­ny a life is one long fe­ver—
A fe­ver of anx­ious sus­pense and care;
A fe­ver of ge­tting, a fe­ver of fret­ting;
A fe­ver of hur­rying here and there.
Ah! what if the win­ning the praise of oth­ers
We miss at the last the King’s Well done!
If our self sought tasks in the Mas­ter’s vine­yard
Yield no­thing but leaves at set of sun.

Whatever the fe­ver, His touch can heal it;
Whatever the tem­pest, His voice can still;
There is on­ly joy as we seek His plea­sure,
There is on­ly rest as we choose His will.
And some day, af­ter life’s fit­ful fe­ver,
I think we shall say, in the home on high,
If the hands that He touched but did His bid­ding,
How lit­tle it mat­ters what else went by!

Lord, touch our hands, let the fe­ver leave us;
And so shall we min­is­ter un­to Thee.