Near him she stole, rank after rank;
She feared approach too loud;
She touched his garment’s hem, and shrank
Back in the sheltering crowd.
A shame-faced gladness thrills her frame:
Her twelve years’ fainting prayer
Is heard at last! she is the same
As other women there!
She hears his voice. He looks about.
Ah! is it kind or good
To drag her secret sorrow out
Before that multitude?
The eyes of men she dares not meet-
On her they straight must fall!-
Forward she sped, and at his feet
Fell down, and told him all.
To the one refuge she hath flown,
The Godhead’s burning flame!
Of all earth’s women she alone
Hears there the tenderest name:
‘Daughter,’ he said, ‘be of good cheer;
Thy faith hath made thee whole:’
With plenteous love, not healing mere,
He comforteth her soul.
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