Would heal the wounded soul. Nor to herself
Less precious, or less healing, would the voice
That spake forgiveness flow. She wept her son
For ever lost, cut off with all the weight
Of unrepented sin upon his head,
Sin which had weigh’d a nation down ... what joy
To know that righteous Heaven had in its wrath
Remember’d mercy, and she yet might meet
The child whom she had borne, redeem’d, in bliss.
The sudden impulse of such thoughts confirm’d