University of Virginia Library

THE NEW MAGDALEN.

Christ came, as often He makes His theophany,
Came in the street—
Came as a Lonely One, came as the Only One,
Naked of feet;
Robed but in tatterings spotted with spatterings
Cast by the mire.
Clouts, as in merriment shaping a cerement,
Veiled not His fire
Breathing sweet awfulness on the unlawfulness
Bursting its bound,
On the iniquity and the obliquity
Surging around;
Till all the blindnesses seeking for kindnesses
But without rest,
All dumb maternities in dark eternities,
Hid in His breast;
All the sad billowings hungry for pillowings
Hailed in Him part,
All the wild malices drunk with hell chalices
Brake on His heart.
Christ as a Pariah stood forth a barrier
Meeting the foe,
Hushing the harlotry, exiled by varletry
Outcast in woe.
Beggary, shameful dress, took an unblameful dress,
Touched by His hand;
Thirsting and neediness, lusting and greediness,
Owned His command.
And the unshriven lot sprang a forgiven lot
Fair from His light,
Born into blessedness from the caressedness
Found in that sight.
Christ as the Holy One, Christ as the Lowly One
Bearing His Cross,
Spake to me winning souls, sware of all sinning souls
None should be loss.
Tears for pain's harrowings, horrors and harrowings,
Fell a sweet flood,
Blotting out sentences barring repentances—
Great tears of blood;
Words for the wondering, words for the blundering
Orphans adrift,
Staggering on so late, deaf and disconsolate—
Words to uplift.
“Who is this brittle reed, who is this little reed
Down in the dust,
Withered and wearily bending and drearily
Blown by each gust?
Once she was dutiful, once she was beautiful,
Bright as the morn;
Now she goes toilingly, now she goes soilingly,
Branded with scorn.
No one may name her more, no one can shame her more,
Blighted in brow;
Marked for indignity, shunned by benignity,
Look at her now!
Victim of vanity, dead to humanity,
Drowning in drink—
Type of the terrible refuge inerrable,
Over the brink;
Under the shimmering stars and the glimmering
Gas-litten gloom!
Fear, though sin's sediment is no impediment
Now to her doom;
Draggled and wandering, troubled and pondering
What will be next,
Past any miracle, hopeless, hysterical,
Misery's text!
Yet in her flightiness girt by Almightiness'
Infinite care,
Yet from obscurity meant in a purity
Richer to share.
Who is this little reed, who is this brittle reed
Bending so low?
Who is this rumpled thing, who is this crumpled thing
Halting and slow?
Tell me of sadnesses, tell me of madnesses,
Then you can guess
Who is this blighted one, who this unrighted one
Dumb with distress?
I'm not contemning her, I'm not condemning her,
Others may grudge
Least crumb of feelingness for mute appealingness;
Who is her judge?
Wicked I call her not, erring I thrall her not
With the old bond;
Past the sour Pharisee, over her heresy
Light leaps beyond.
All I can see in her, all soon to flee in her
Is passing night,
Trespassing, sorrowful, quenched by the morrow full
Of visions bright;
Only the meeknesses, only the weaknesses
Bidding her stray,
Turned into sweetnesses of my completenesses
In the new day.
I lift a stone for her, I who atone for her,
I fix a brand!
I would set throne for her, if all alone for her,
Proud by her stand.
Love sees the beautiful mating the dutiful
In a true tryst,
Love sees divinity and new virginity
Reborn in Christ.
Love sees no sin in her, love sees begin in her
Innocence quite,
Love sees a glorious lot and victorious
Loveliness white.
Where is the Stoical spirit heroical,
Raising her up!
Where is the womanly hand, giving humanly
Her the love cup?
Not mere mortality hers, but reality
No man hath priced;
Out of her viciousness comes all deliciousness;
She is the Christ.”