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8.8.6.

1
King Hezekiah lay diseased,
With every dangerous symptom seized,
Beyond the cure of art,
With languid pulse and strength decayed,
With spirits sunk, and soul dismayed,
And ready to depart.

2
His friends despair, his servants droop;
The learned leech can give no hope;
All signs of life are fled:
When lo! the seer Isaiah came,
With words to damp the expiring flame.
And strike the dying dead.

3
Entering the royal patient’s room,
He thus denounced the dreadful doom:
“Of flattering hopes beware,
God’s messenger behold I stand.
Thus saith the Lord, thy death’s at hand:
Prepare, O king, prepare.”

4
Methinks I hear the hero say:
“And must my life be snatched away,
Before I’m fit to die?
Can prayer reverse the stern decree,
And save a wretch condemned like me?
It may – at least I’ll try.”

5
He said; and weeping poured a prayer,
That conquered pain, removed despair,
With all its heavy load;
Repelled the force of death’s attack;
Brought the recanting prophet back,
And turned the mind of God.