THE WOMAN THAT CRIED IN THE CROWD.

She says within: “It is a man,

A man of mother born;

She is a woman — I am one,

Alive this holy morn.”

Filled with his words that flow in light,

Her heart will break or cry:

A woman's cry bursts forth in might

Of loving agony.

“Blessed the womb, Thee, Lord, that bore!

The breast where Thou hast fed!”

Storm-like those words the silence tore,

Though words the silence bred.

He ceases, listens to the cry,

And knows from whence it springs;

A woman's heart that glad would die

For this her best of things.

Yet there is better than the birth

Of such a mighty son;

Better than know, of all the earth

Thyself the chosen one.

“Yea, rather, blessed they that hear,

And keep the word of God.”

The voice was gentle, not severe:

No answer came abroad.