THE WOMAN OF SAMARIA.

The empty pitcher to the pool She bore in listless mood: In haste she turned; the pitcher full Beside the water stood.

To her was heard the age's prayer: He sat upon the brink; Weary beside the waters fair, And yet He could not drink.

He begged her help. The woman's hand Was ready to reply; From out the old well of the land She drew Him plenteously.

He spake as never man before; She stands with open ears; He spoke of holy days in store, Laid bare the vanished years.

She cannot grapple with her heart, Till, in the city's bound, She cries, to ease the joy-born smart, "I have the Master found."

Her life before was strange and sad; Its tale a dreary sound: Ah! let it go—or good or bad, She has the Master found.