Classic Poem

Somebody soon will be convey'd,
To mingle with the Dust;
But has the Soul first took it's flight,
To sing among the Just?

Attendance to convey it home,
In readiness does stand;
But then I started with surprize,
A Friend had seiz'd my hand.

He noticed, that I was surpriz'd,
I then unto him said,
I was, just now, quite lost in Thought:
He said, a Doctor's dead!

Many a Guinea oft he took
To cause grim Death to stay;
But he's become his Conquer'r now,
And borne him too away.

But Christ is a Physician true,
So boundless is his Skill,
He conquer'd Hell, and Death must wait
The great Physician's Will.

He gave Advice unto the Poor,
And Sight unto the Blind;
For all Disease upon this Earth,
But he a Cure did find.

And did he give the Deaf to hear?
Yea, made the Lame to Walk;
He healed to, the Dumb, I find,
And made their Tongue to talk.

He healeth all those Sin-sick Souls
That do to him apply;
But yet some are so vain, I think,
As noxious Drugs to buy.

And thus they Grow still worse and worse,
And no Relief can find,
Until by Grace are humbly brought
Unto a Saviour kind.