The Gospel Miracles :: :: University of Virginia Library

Where the Saviour lies reclin'd,
Lo, that woman's form appears;
Bending o'er him from behind,
Lo, she wets his feet with tears,
Streaming from her o'ercharg'd eyes;
With her hair the moisture dries;
Prints with many a kiss his feet;
Bathes them with that unguent sweet.

Is it she, the Magdalene,
From the sevenfold tyranny
Of demoniack frenzy clean?
Is it she of Bethany?—
Thus we deem not: but we know,
Great has been her cause of woe;
Well we know, whate'er her name,
Great has been her cause of shame.

“She the way of sin hath trod:
She a child of guilt hath been.
And shall he, a man of God,
Offering take from hands unclean?
He, whose high pretensions claim
To assume a prophet's name,
If a prophet, he would know,
Who is she that clasps him so.”

Thou, that with the social feast
Spread'st thy board, O Pharisee;
And hast bid the prophet guest,
Simon, to regale with thee;

As thine eye the scene surveys,
Tho' thy thoughts no word betrays,
Are not these the thoughts that find
Welcome in thy secret mind?

Is it thus? Then what if He,
Who assumes a prophet's name,
Give thee cause at once to see
Proof of his aspiring claim?
What if He at once disclose,
He full well that woman knows?
What if He thy heart reveal?
What if He her pardon seal?

“Hear me, Simon!” Thus his speech
Wakes thee from suspicion's dream:
Fain would He thy spirit teach,
Worthier things of Him to deem.
“Debts to one, of lot more blest,
Two of Israel's sons distrest:
This a lighter burden ow'd;
That bemoan'd a tenfold load.

“How to quit the engagement due?
How from worse themselves to save?
He of each the trouble knew,
And to each the debt forgave.
Which of them to him will pay
Love more fervent? Will not, say,
He in gratitude excel,
Whom the greater boon befel?

“Mark this woman! For my feet
Water none thy house supplied:
She with tears my feet hath wet,
With her tresses she hath dried!

Kiss, my welcome to bespeak,
None thou gavest on my cheek:
She, thou seest it, doth not miss,
Since she came, my feet to kiss!

“Oil of olive hast thou none
Given me to anoint my head:
Unguent from sweet spices won
She upon my feet hath shed!
Manifold her sins have been:
Now forgiveness makes her clean.
Mercy great 'tis hers to prove;
Like the mercy, great her love!”

Simon, art thou answer'd so?
Seek thy scruples more than this?
Does not he, the Teacher, know,
Who and what that woman is?
Tho' with former sin defil'd,
Now repentant sorrow's child,
Shall her touch annul his claim
To a prophet's holy name?

Simon, art thou answer'd now?
Yet another lesson taught,
Pharisee, the truth avow!
He, who reads and tells the thought,
Not by tongue of man exprest,
Lurking in the inmost breast,
May not He a title claim
Loftier than a prophet's name?

Simon, art thou answer'd yet?
Still another lesson know!
He, who, heedful of the debt,
Which to God transgressors owe,

Solaces the conscious heart,
And to sinners dares impart
Pardon by his own decree,
Is not more than prophet He?

Take then thou that woman's place;
Humbled in thine own conceit,
Pharisee, thyself abase;
Bend and clasp the Saviour's feet!
Tell the plague thy heart within;
Seek forgiveness of thy sin:
Thou that woman's grace shalt prove;
Thou shalt feel that woman's love!

O, like her, the Saviour seek,
O, to him thy heart be given;
Thou, like her, shalt hear him speak
“All thy sins are thee forgiven!”
Thou, like her, shalt hear him say,
“Rise, and go thy homeward way:
Lo, thy faith hath caus'd to cease
All thy troubles; go in peace.”