Abana was a river
That near Damascus run;
Its bank of palms and roses
Lay beauteous in the sun.
Now by the bright Abana
Did Naaman reside,
And oft the dimpling waters
Beheld with joy and pride.

But Naaman, the victor,
Became a leper there;
Was pitied by a captive,
A child of faith and prayer;
She told him of a prophet
That could a leper heal,
And to his mind in sorrow
The living God reveal.

This little missionary
The conqueror believed,
And journeyed to the prophet,
Who gladly him received.
He washed in Jordan’s river,
And was to health restored,
Then came he to Abana,
Rejoicing in the Lord.

All may be missionaries,
About their daily care,
And speak of faith in Je­sus,
And help that comes from prayer.
Some soul oppressed by sorrow
May listen to the word,
Like Naaman the leper,
And turn and seek the Lord.