He speaks. With torturing joy the sounds Drop burning on thine ear; The mother-heart, though bleeding, bounds Her dying Son to hear. Ah! well He knew that not alone The cross of pain could tell; That griefs as bitter as his own Around it heave and swell. And well He knew what best repose Would bring a true relief: He gave, each to the other, those Who shared a common grief. "Mother, behold thy son. O friend, My mother take for thine." "Ah, son, he loved thee to the end." "Mother, what honour mine!" Another son instead, He gave, Her crying heart to still. For him, He went down to the grave, Doing his Father's will. II. THE WOMAN THAT CRIED IN THE CROWD. 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. III. THE MOTHER OP ZEBEDEE'S CHILDREN. Ah mother! for thy children bold, But doubtful of thy quest, Thou begg'st a boon ere it be told, Avoiding wisdom's test. Though love is strong to bring thee nigh, Ambition makes thee doubt; Ambition dulls the prophet-eye; It casts the unseen out. Not that in thousands he be one, Uplift in lonely state-- Seek great things, mother, for thy son, Because the things are great. For ill to thee thy prayers avail, If granted to thy will; Ill which thy ignorance would hail, Or good thou countedst ill. Them thou wouldst see in purple pride, Worshipped on every hand; Their honours mighty but to hide The evil of the land. Or wouldst thou thank for granted quest, Counting thy prayer well heard, If of the three on Calvary's crest They shared the first and third? Let them, O mother, safety win; They are not safe with thee; Thy love would shut their glory in; His love would set it free. God keeps his thrones for men of strength, Men that are fit to rule; Who, in obedience ripe at length, Have passed through all his school. Yet higher than thy love can dare, His love thy sons would set: They who his cup and baptism share May share his kingdom yet. IV. THE SYROPHENICIAN WOMAN. "Bestow her prayer, and let her go; She crieth after us." Nay, to the dogs ye cast it so; Help not a woman thus. Their pride, by condescension fed, He speaks with truer tongue: "It is not meet the children's bread Should to the dogs be flung."