She pored o’er the open page
Of the Gospel, according to John,
Where the Ruler did Christ engage
At hours of the silent night,
And sought for his soul that light,
Which God sent forth through His Son.
But she could not read a word,
A child of four summers she,
Not ever, even once, had she heard
That story of second birth,
Nor asked, like the wise of the earth,
“O, Lord, how can these things be?”
Her face had the glory of heaven,
The look of an angel her eye,
I said: “And to her it is given
To know, for her soul is one
With the soul of this page of John,
And the wisdom that comes from on high.”