MAGDALEN
By James Ryder Randall
The Hebrew girl, with flaming brow,The banner-blush of shame,Sinks at the sinless Saviour’s KneesAnd dares to breathe His name.From the full fountain of her eyesThe lava-globes are roll’d—They wash His feet; she spurns them offWith her ringlet-scarf of gold.The Meek One feels the eloquenceOf agonizing prayer,The burning tears, the suppliant face,The penitential hair;And when, to crown her brimming woe,The ointment box is riven—“Rise, daughter, rise! Much hast thou loved,Be all thy sins forgiven!”Dear God! The prayer of good and pure,The canticles of light,Enrobe Thy throne with gorgeous skies,As incense in Thy sight;May the shivered vase of MagdalenSoothe many an outcast’s smart,Teaching what fragrant pleas may springFrom out abroken heart!
The Hebrew girl, with flaming brow,The banner-blush of shame,Sinks at the sinless Saviour’s KneesAnd dares to breathe His name.From the full fountain of her eyesThe lava-globes are roll’d—They wash His feet; she spurns them offWith her ringlet-scarf of gold.The Meek One feels the eloquenceOf agonizing prayer,The burning tears, the suppliant face,The penitential hair;And when, to crown her brimming woe,The ointment box is riven—“Rise, daughter, rise! Much hast thou loved,Be all thy sins forgiven!”Dear God! The prayer of good and pure,The canticles of light,Enrobe Thy throne with gorgeous skies,As incense in Thy sight;May the shivered vase of MagdalenSoothe many an outcast’s smart,Teaching what fragrant pleas may springFrom out abroken heart!
The Hebrew girl, with flaming brow,The banner-blush of shame,Sinks at the sinless Saviour’s KneesAnd dares to breathe His name.From the full fountain of her eyesThe lava-globes are roll’d—They wash His feet; she spurns them offWith her ringlet-scarf of gold.
The Hebrew girl, with flaming brow,
The banner-blush of shame,
Sinks at the sinless Saviour’s Knees
And dares to breathe His name.
From the full fountain of her eyes
The lava-globes are roll’d—
They wash His feet; she spurns them off
With her ringlet-scarf of gold.
The Meek One feels the eloquenceOf agonizing prayer,The burning tears, the suppliant face,The penitential hair;And when, to crown her brimming woe,The ointment box is riven—“Rise, daughter, rise! Much hast thou loved,Be all thy sins forgiven!”
The Meek One feels the eloquence
Of agonizing prayer,
The burning tears, the suppliant face,
The penitential hair;
And when, to crown her brimming woe,
The ointment box is riven—
“Rise, daughter, rise! Much hast thou loved,
Be all thy sins forgiven!”
Dear God! The prayer of good and pure,The canticles of light,Enrobe Thy throne with gorgeous skies,As incense in Thy sight;May the shivered vase of MagdalenSoothe many an outcast’s smart,Teaching what fragrant pleas may springFrom out abroken heart!
Dear God! The prayer of good and pure,
The canticles of light,
Enrobe Thy throne with gorgeous skies,
As incense in Thy sight;
May the shivered vase of Magdalen
Soothe many an outcast’s smart,
Teaching what fragrant pleas may spring
From out abroken heart!