To Find That Tree Of Life Whose Fruits Did Feed And Leaves Did Heal All Sick Of Human Seed: To Find Bethesda And An Angel There Stirring The Waters, I Am Come; And Here, At Last, I Find (After My Much To Do) The Tree, Bethesda And The Angel Too: And All In Your Blest Hand, Which Has The Powers Of All Those Suppling-Healing Herbs And Flowers. To That Soft Charm, That Spell, That Magic Bough, That High Enchantment, I Betake Me Now, And To That Hand (The Branch Of Heaven'S Fair Tree), I Kneel For Help; O! Lay That Hand On Me, Adored C'Sar! And My Faith Is Such I Shall Be Heal'D If That My King But Touch. The Evil Is Not Yours: My Sorrow Sings, "Mine Is The Evil, But The Cure The King'S".