From Samaria to Galilee,

The roads returned to Cana,

Where water once had carried wine

And glory first had answered.

A nobleman from Capernaum

Climbed every weary mile;

His title could not cool the brow

Of one beloved sick child.

"Come down before my son is gone,

Before the breathing ends."

The father laid his standing down

And pleaded not as rank, but man.

A warning met the anxious room:

"Unless signs appear, will faith believe?"

Still one request broke through the fear:

"Sir, come down before he leaves."

Thy son liveth.

Go thy way.

The word was given

Before the proof came.

Thy son liveth.

Trust what was said.

The father turned toward home

With the promise in his step.

No hand had touched the child,

No messenger ran ahead,

No visible change could meet the man

When he believed and left.

The road became the proving ground,

The distance held the strain;

He carried only spoken hope

Toward the house of pain.

Thy son liveth.

Go thy way.

The word was given

Before the proof came.

Thy son liveth.

Trust what was said.

The father turned toward home

With the promise in his step.

Servants came to meet him:

"Thy son lives; the fever fled."

"At what hour did strength return?"

"The seventh," they replied.

Then memory joined the moment,

The road and word became one sign;

The hour Jesus spoke in Cana

Was the hour the fever died.

Thy son liveth.

Go thy way.

The word was faithful

Across the miles of pain.

Thy son liveth.

The promise reached the bed.

The father and his household

Believed the one who said:

Thy son liveth.

Faith walked home before sight arrived.