"Woman, behold thy son.—Behold
Thy mother." Blessed hest
That friend to her torn heart to fold
Who understood him best!
Another son—ah, not instead!—
He gave, lest grief should kill,
While he was down among the dead,
Doing his father's will.
No, not instead! the coming joy
Will make him hers anew;
More hers than when, a little boy,
His life from hers he drew.
II.
THE WOMAN THAT LIFTED UP HER VOICE.
Filled with his words of truth and right,
Her heart will break or cry:
A woman's cry bursts forth in might
Of loving agony.
"Blessed the womb, thee, Lord, that bare!
The bosom that thee fed!"
A moment's silence filled the air,
All heard the words she said.
He turns his face: he knows the cry,
The fountain whence it springs—
A woman's heart that glad would die
For woman's best of things.
Good thoughts, though laggard in the rear,
He never quenched or chode:
"Yea, rather, blessed they that hear
And keep the word of God!"
He would uplift her, not rebuke.
The crowd began to stir.
We miss how she the answer took;
We hear no more of her.