In the hot sun, for water cool
She walked in listless mood:
When back she ran, her pitcher full
Forgot behind her stood.

Like one who followed straying sheep,
A weary man she saw,
Who sat upon the well so deep,
And nothing had to draw.

“Give me to drink,” he said. Her hand
Was ready with 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 spake of holy days in store,
Laid bare the vanished years.

She cannot still her throbbing heart,
She hurries to the town,
And cries aloud in street and mart,
“The Lord is here: come down.”

Her life before was strange and sad,
A very dreary sound:
Ah, let it go-or good or bad:
She has the Master found!