She says within: “It is a man,
A man of mother born;
She is a woman–I am one,
Alive this holy morn.”
Filled with his words that flow in light,
Her heart will break or cry:
A woman’s cry bursts forth in might
Of loving agony.
“Blessed the womb, Thee, Lord, that bore!
The breast where Thou hast fed!”
Storm-like those words the silence tore,
Though words the silence bred.
He ceases, listens to the cry,
And knows from whence it springs;
A woman’s heart that glad would die
For this her best of things.
Yet there is better than the birth
Of such a mighty son;
Better than know, of all the earth
Thyself the chosen one.
“Yea, rather, blessed they that hear,
And keep the word of God.”
The voice was gentle, not severe:
No answer came abroad.