How welcome to the soul oppressed,

How welcome to the soul oppressed,
In sorrow's vale, by raging thirst,
Scorched by the sun's meridian beam,
Is the sweet well of Bethlehem!

Prophets of old, and saints the same,
In every age, of every name,
Drank of this soul-reviving stream,
The water sweet of Bethlehem.

Water so pure, or half so good,
From nature's fountains never flowed;
There's curse and death in every stream,
Save in the well of Bethlehem.

Wide as the stretch of human woe,
Those death-consuming waters flow;
Spring up, O well! be this my theme,
Thou water sweet from Bethlehem.

To cheer when faint, when sick to heal,
Its wondrous virtues must prevail;
My sins to crush, my fears to quell,
Spring up, O stream! from Bethlehem's well.

When nature sinks beneath her load,
Amidst the din of Jordan's flood;
With this my every fear dispel,
One sip of Bethlehem's sacred well.