THE WOMAN WHO CAME BEHIND HIM IN THE CROWD.

Near him she stole, rank after rank;

She feared approach too loud;

She touched his garment's hem, and shrank

Back in the sheltering crowd.

A trembling joy goes through her frame:

Her twelve years’ fainting prayer

Is heard at last; she is the same

As other women there.

She hears his voice; He looks about.

Ah! is it kind or good

To bring her secret sorrow out

Before that multitude?

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 godlike 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.