She hears his voice; He looks about.

Ah! is it kind or good To bring her secret sorrow out Before that mult.i.tude?

With open love, not secret cure, The Lord of hearts would bless; With age-long gladness, deep and sure, With wealth of tenderness.

Her shame can find no shelter meet; Their eyes her soul appal: Forward she sped, and at his feet Fell down, and told Him all.

His presence made a holy place; No alien eyes were there; Her shamed-faced grief found G.o.dlike grace; More sorrow, tenderer care.

"Daughter, thy faith hath made thee whole; Go, and be well, and glad."

Ah, Lord! if we had faith, our soul Not often would be sad.

Thou knowest all our hidden grief Which none but Thee can know; Thy knowledge, Lord, is our relief; Thy love destroys our woe.

VIII.

THE WIDOW WITH THE TWO MITES.

Here _much_ and _little_ change their name With changing need and time; But _more_ and _less_ new judgments claim, Where all things are sublime.

Sickness may be more hale than health, And service kingdom high; Yea, poverty be bounty's wealth, To give like G.o.d thereby.

Bring forth your riches,--let them go, Nor mourn the lost control; For if ye h.o.a.rd them, surely so Their rust will reach your soul.

Cast in your coins; for G.o.d delights When from wide hands they fall; But here is one who brings two mites, "And yet gives more than all."

She heard not, she, the mighty praise; Went home to care and need: Perchance the knowledge still delays, And yet she has the meed.

IX.

THE WOMEN WHO MINISTERED UNTO HIM.

They give Him freely all they can, They give Him clothes and food; In this rejoicing, that the Man Is not ashamed they should.

Enough He labours for his hire; Yea, nought can pay his pain; The sole return He doth require Is strength to toil again.

And this, embalmed in truth, they bring, By love received as such; Their little, by his welcoming, Transformed into much.

X.

PILATE'S WIFE.

Strangely thy whispered message ran, Almost in form behest!

Why came in dreams the low-born man To part thee from thy rest?

It may be that some spirit fair, Who knew not what must be, Fled in the anguish of his care For help for him to thee.

But rather would I think thee great; That rumours upward went, And pierced the palisades of state In which thy rank was pent;

And that a Roman matron thou, Too n.o.ble for thy spouse, The far-heard grandeur must allow, And sit with pondering brows.

And so thy maidens' gathered tale For thee with wonder teems; Thou sleepest, and the prisoner pale Returneth in thy dreams.

And thou hast suffered for his sake Sad visions all the night: One day thou wilt, then first awake, Rejoice in his dear light.

XI.

THE WOMAN OF SAMARIA.

The empty pitcher to the pool She bore in listless mood: In haste she turned; the pitcher full Beside the water stood.

To her was heard the age's prayer: He sat upon the brink; Weary beside the waters fair, And yet He could not drink.

He begged her help. The woman's hand Was ready to reply; From out the old well of the land She drew Him plenteously.

He spake as never man before; She stands with open ears; He spoke of holy days in store, Laid bare the vanished years.

She cannot grapple with her heart, Till, in the city's bound, She cries, to ease the joy-born smart, "I have the Master found."

Her life before was strange and sad; Its tale a dreary sound: Ah! let it go--or good or bad, She has the Master found.

XII.

MARY MAGDALENE.

With eyes aglow, and aimless zeal, Throughout the land she goes; Her tones, her motions, all reveal A mind without repose.

She climbs the hills, she haunts the sea, By madness tortured, driven; One hour's forgetfulness would be A gift from very heaven.