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The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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XVI.

THE WOMAN THAT WAS A SINNER.

His
face, his words, her heart awoke; Awoke her slumbering truth;
She
judged him well; her bonds she broke, And fled to him for ruth.

With tears she washed his weary feet;

She wiped them with her hair;

Her
kisses--call them not unmeet, When they were welcome there.

What saint a richer crown could throw

At his love-royal feet!

Her
tears, her lips, her hair, down go, His reign begun to greet.
His
holy manhood's perfect worth Owns her a woman still;

It is impossible henceforth

For her to stoop to ill.

Her
to herself his words restore, The radiance to the day;

A horror to herself no more,

Not yet a cast-away!

Her
hands and kisses, ointment, tears, Her gathered wiping hair,
Her
love, her shame, her hopes, her fears, Mingle in worship rare.

Thou, Mary, too, thy hair didst spread

To wipe the anointed feet;

Nor
didst thou only bless his head With precious spikenard sweet.
But
none say thou thy tears didst pour To wash his parched feet first;

Of tears thou couldst not have such store

As from this woman burst!

If not in love she first be read,

Her queen of sorrow greet;

Mary, do thou anoint his head,

And let her crown his feet.

Simon, her kisses will not soil;

Her tears are pure as rain;

The
hair for him she did uncoil Had been baptized in pain.
Lo,
God hath pardoned her so much, Love all her being stirs!
His
love to his poor child is such That it hath wakened hers!
But
oh, rejoice, ye sisters pure, Who scarce can know her case--

There is no sin but has its cure,

Its all-consuming grace!

He did not leave her soul in hell,

'Mong shards the silver dove;

But
raised her pure that she might tell Her sisters how to love!
She
gave him all your best love can! Despised, rejected, sad--

Sure, never yet had mighty man

Such homage as he had!

Jesus, by whose forgiveness sweet,

Her love grew so intense,

Earth's sinners all come round thy feet:

Lord, make no difference!






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