Physician

By Mary Margaret Hawkins

Soul sick, I sought His promised balm

And soothing healer’s art.

He quick dismissed my shallow wounds

But studied on my heart.

A gentle salve was not prescribed

For the wholeness I desired.

A surgeon’s cutting to replace

My heart would be required.

In trust, consenting, then I begged

The method used on Saul:

One painful lance and three days dumb

Then sweet rebirth as Paul.

But by more common miracle

The healer works in me,

As day by decade soft He builds

New heart where none can see.

A tedious, mighty change is wrought

Till no cell is the same.

As in the fleshy tables there

He writes His word, His name.