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.