University of Virginia Library

THE WOMAN TAKEN IN ADULTERY.

St. John, ch. viii., vv. 1–12.

Without the city walls, the Son of man
Had watched all night upon the stony ridge,
Beyond the Brook of Kedron, which o'erlooks
The fatal town, and Moriah's mount sublime,
Crowned by the temple of the living God,
And Silsa's stream oracular, and the vale
Named of Jehosaphat, where soon shall stand
The abomination making desolate—
Then with his Father, till the stars were pale,
In holiest commune on that lonely steep,
The Mount of Olives.
Now the sun arose,
And through the stillness of the early morn
Volumed and white up-soared the savory smoke
Of morning sacrifice, and pealed aloft
The silver trumpets their sonorous praise,
O'er Zion.
Then he ceased from prayer, and came
Again unto the temple, and went in,
And all the people gathered to his words,
Breathless and mute with awe, the while he sate,
Teaching.
But while the sweet and solemn sound,
The words of Him who spake as never man
Spake, or shall speak, filled every listening soul
With wisdom that is life, a throng of Scribes
And Pharisees came hasting through the doors,
And, haling a fair woman towards his place,
Set her before him in the midst.
She was
Indeed most fair, and young, and innocent
To look upon. Alas, that such as she
So should have fallen!
Pale she stood, and mute,
Her large soft eyes, that wont to swim in light,
Burning with tearless torture; cheek and brow
Whiter than ashes, or the snow that dwells
On Sinai. Thus she stood a little space,
Gazing around with a bewildered glare
That had no speculation in't—
Then sank
In her disordered robes, a shapeless heap,
At a tall pillar's base, her face concealed
In the coarse mufflings of her woollen gown,
And the redundance of her golden hair,
Part fairly braided, part in wavy flow
Dishevelled, o'er her bare shoulders spread,
Purer than alabaster—naught beside
Exposed, save one round arm the bashful face
With slenderest fingers hiding, while the drops
Oozed through them slow and silent—she wept now,
When none beheld her!—and one rosy foot,
Unsandalled, peering from the ruffled hem
Of her white garb—all else a drifted mass
Of draperies, heaving, like the ocean's swell,
To that unspoken agony within
Rending the bosom, unsuspect of man,
But seen of the All-seeing.
Up they spake:
“Master, this woman in the act was ta'en
Sinning. Now Moses taught us, in the law,
That whoso doeth thus, shall surely die,
Stoned by the people; but what sayest thou?”
Thus said they, tempting him, that they might have
Of sin to accuse the sinless.
Jesus stooped,
Silent, and with his finger on the ground
Traced characters, as though he heard them not.
But when they asked again, importunate,
He raised himself in perfect majesty,
Calm and inscrutable, reading their souls
With that deep eye to which all hearts are known,
From which no secrets can be hidden.
Then,
“He that is here, among you, without sin,”
He said, “let him first cast a stone at her.”
Then stooped he again, and on the ground
Wrote as before.
A mighty terror fell
On those which heard it, in their secret souls
Convicted. One by one they slunk away,
The eldest first, as guiltiest, to the last;
Till none were left, but Jesus in the midst
Standing alone, and at the column's base
The woman grovelling like a trampled worm:
They two were in the temple—but they two,
Of all the crowd that thronged it even now—
The sinful mortal, and her sinless God.
When Jesus had arisen, and beheld
That none were left of all, save she alone;
“Woman,” he said unto her, “Woman, where
Be now those thine accusers? Hath no man
Condemned thee?”
And she answered, “No man, Lord.”
“Neither do I!” Jesus replied to her,
“Condemn thee. Go, and sin no more.”
And she
Arose, and went her way in sadness; and
The grace of Him to whom the power is given
To pardon sins sank down into her soul,
Like gentle dew upon the drooping herb
That under that good influence blooms again,
And sends its odors heavenward.
And perchance
There was great joy above, in those bright hosts
Who more rejoice o'er one that was a slave
To sin and hath repented, than o'er ten
So just that they have nothing to repent.