MAGDALENE IN THE DESERT.
I
Say, who that woman kneeling sole
Amid yon desert bare?
The cold rain beats her bosom,
The night-wind lifts her hair—
It is the holy Magdalene,
O listen to her prayer.
‘Lord, I have prayed since eventide:
And midnight now hath spread
Her dusky pall abroad o'er all
The living and the dead.
The stars each moment shine more large,
Down-gazing from the skies:
O Father of the sorrowful
Turn thus on me Thine eyes!’
II
Hark, thunder shakes the cliff far off!
The woods in lightning glare;
The eagle shivers in her nest
The lion in his lair:
And yet, now trembling and now still,
She makes the same sad prayer.
‘Lord of the sunshine and the storm!
The darkness and the day!
Why should I fear if Thou art near?
And Thou art near alway!
Thus in the wilderness, Thy Son
Was tempted, Lord, by Thee:
He triumphed in that awful strife:
O let Him plead for me.’
III
How often must that woman pray?
How long kneel sighing there?
O joy to see the Holy Cross
Clasped to a breast so fair!—
Speak louder, blessed Magdalene,
And let me join thy prayer.
‘Lord! Thou hast heard my plaint all night;
And now the airs of morn
My forehead fan, my temples wan,
My face, and bosom worn!
O! o'er my weak and wildered soul,
Make thus Thy Spirit move;
That I may feel the light once more
And answer love with love!’
