"Ah, woman-heart! what end is set
Common to thee and me?
My hour of honour is not yet,—
'Twill come too soon for thee."
And yet his eyes so sweetly shined,
His voice so gentle grew,
The mother knew the answer kind—
"Whate'er He sayeth, do."
The little feast more joyous grew,
Fast flowed the grapes divine;
Though then, as now, not many knew
Who made the water wine.
4.
"He is beside himself," they said;
His days, so lonely spent,
Him from the well-known path have led
In which our fathers went."
"Thy mother seeks thee." Cried aloud,
The message finds its way;
He stands within, amidst a crowd,
She in the open day.
A flush of light o'erspreads his face,
And pours from forth his eyes;
He lifts that head, the home of grace,
Looks round Him, and replies.
"My mother? brothers? who are they?"
Hearest thou, Mary mild?
This is a sword that well may slay—
Disowned by thy child!
Not so. But, brothers, sisters, hear!
What says our human Lord?
O mother, did it wound thy ear?
We thank Him for the word.
"Who are my friends?" Oh! hear Him say,
And spread it far and broad.
"My mother, sisters, brothers, they
Who keep the word of God."