A pro­phet-woman broke a jar,
By Love’s di­vine ap­point­ing,
With rare per­fume she filled the room,
Presiding and an­oint­ing.
A pro­phet-wo­man broke a jar,
The sneers of scorn de­fy­ing,
With rare per­fume she filled the room,
Preparing Christ for dy­ing.

A faith­ful wo­man left a tomb
By Love’s di­vine com­mis­sion.
She saw; she heard; she preached the Word,
Arising from sub­mis­sion.
A faith­ful woman left a tomb,
With re­sur­rect­ion gos­pel.
She saw; she heard; she preached the Word,
Apostle to apos­tles.

Though wo­man-wis­dom, wo­man-truth,
For cen­tu­ries were hid­den,
Unsung, un­writ­ten, and un­heard,
Derided and for­bid­den,
The Spir­it’s breath, the Spir­it’s fire,
On free and slave des­cend­ing,
Can tum­ble our di­vid­ing-walls,
Our shame and sad­ness mend­ing.

The Spir­it knows; the Spir­it calls,
By Love’s di­vine or­dain­ing,
The friends we need, to serve and lead,
Their pow­er and gifts un­chain­ing.
The Spir­it knows, the Spir­it calls,
From wo­men, men, and child­ren,
The friends we need, to serve and lead.
Rejoice, and make them wel­come!