On the Sabbath Jesus taught where synagogue walls stood,

And among the gathered people was a woman bowed for good.

Eighteen years a spirit's burden kept her folded toward the floor,

Unable to lift herself upright or meet the room once more.

She did not call Him loudly, did not force her way ahead,

Jesus saw her, called her forward, and a sentence changed the day.

Woman, thou art loosed,

Eighteen years released.

A back that could not straighten

Rose upright in sudden peace.

Woman, thou art loosed,

Hands laid gently, chains undone.

She stood and glorified God

In the Sabbath light of sun.

The ruler of the synagogue grew angry at the cure,

Telling crowds that six days offered proper hours for work.

But Jesus named the double rule beneath the pious claim:

On Sabbath they untied an ox or ass and led it from the chain.

Should not this daughter of Abraham, bound eighteen years so long,

Be loosed upon the Sabbath from the thing that held her wrong?

An ox or ass within its stall

Could be loosed and led away,

Yet mercy for a daughter

Was somehow called delay.

The answer left His adversaries

Ashamed beneath the light,

While all the people rejoiced

At every glorious work in sight.

Woman, thou art loosed,

Eighteen years released.

What rule could make compassion

Wait another week for peace?

Woman, thou art loosed,

The Sabbath bore the sign:

A daughter long bent downward

Stood before them straight and fine.