Her eyes are homes of silent prayer,
⁠Nor other thought her mind admits
⁠But, he was dead, and there he sits,
And he that brought him back is there.

Then one deep love doth supersede
⁠All other, when her ardent gaze
⁠Roves from the living brother's face,
And rests upon the Life indeed.

All subtle thought, all curious fears,
⁠Borne down by gladness so complete,
⁠She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet
With costly spikenard and with tears.

Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers,
⁠Whose loves in higher love endure;
⁠What souls possess themselves so pure,
Or is there blessedness like theirs?