The Woman Who Came Behind Him in the Crowd

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 trembling joy goes through 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 bring her secret sorrow out
  Before that multitude?
With open love, not secret cure,
  The Lord of hearts would bless;
With age-long gladness, deep and sure,
  With wealth of tenderness.
Her shame can find no shelter meet;
  Their eyes her soul appal:
Forward she sped, and at his feet
  Fell down, and told Him all.
His presence made a holy place;
  No alien eyes were there;
Her shamed-faced grief found godlike grace;
  More sorrow, tenderer care.
"Daughter, thy faith hath made thee whole;
  Go, and be well, and glad."
Ah, Lord! if we had faith, our soul
  Not often would be sad.
Thou knowest all our hidden grief
  Which none but Thee can know;
Thy knowledge, Lord, is our relief;
  Thy love destroys our woe.