Of him. At our return thick mobs of women filled the church with bobs
And bows, poor puppets, trying hard to sing between their stifled sobs:
God, whose Son has fathomed sorrow,
Give a mother strength to say:
Mine has faced and found To-morrow.
I will try to face To-day.
They turned to me. They thought me wise because I had been led by lies
To blind myself to them; and now I saw things through a woman's eyes,
And I went out. Not yet the end. Since innocence alone could save,
Saints hit on infant infantry, and fifty thousand found the grave.