“Physician,” Ensign, Apr. 1999, 5
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.