I see the multitude of people
who throng and press
--with indifferent shoulders
and heartless chests--
against Thee. O Master,
how I long to touch,
but the hem of your garment.
Desperately, I must
--with an ever-reaching arm,
extended towards You--
be unsatisfied
until I capture your virtue.
Until You ask "Who touched me?"
Until I confess, trembling, "It is me"
Until You say "Be of good comfort
you are made whole, go in peace."
I will not withdraw my hand
Nor will I faint
From the hem of your garment
for You are my strength.
Until the midnight hour
Until the pain is gone
Until You touch me--
I'll be holding on.
who throng and press
--with indifferent shoulders
and heartless chests--
against Thee. O Master,
how I long to touch,
but the hem of your garment.
Desperately, I must
--with an ever-reaching arm,
extended towards You--
be unsatisfied
until I capture your virtue.
Until You ask "Who touched me?"
Until I confess, trembling, "It is me"
Until You say "Be of good comfort
you are made whole, go in peace."
I will not withdraw my hand
Nor will I faint
From the hem of your garment
for You are my strength.
Until the midnight hour
Until the pain is gone
Until You touch me--
I'll be holding on.