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.
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