Could I get near enough To send him a message-- I keeping far off-- He would not say me nay. In some little nook He would find me a living And let none be driving His shamed son away.
The Penitent arose, His scalding tears blinding him; Hope's ray lit his way As homeward he pressed. Afar off his father's Fond eyes are finding him, And the old man gathers His boy to his breast.
They who have loved the most The most have been forgiven, And with the Devil's host Most mightily have striven. And so it was of old With her, once all unclean, Now of the saints white-stoled-- Mary, the Magdalen. For though in Satan's power She seemed for ever fast, Her Saviour in one hour Seven devils from her cast.
O'erburthened by the weight Of her black bosom sin, As Christ with Simon sate At meat, she had stolen in. Toward her Lord she drew; She knelt by Him unchid; The latchet of His shoe Her trembling hands undid. Foot-water none was by Nor towel, as was meet, To comfort and to dry His hot way-weary feet; But with her blinding tears She bathes them now instead, And dries them with the hairs Of her abased head.
And so, when Simon looked, And pondered, evil-eyed, No longer Jesus brooked His thought, but thus replied; "Simon, no kiss of peace Thou gav'st me at thy door, No oil, my head to ease, Didst thou upon it pour, Nay, for thy bidden guest So little hast thou cared, His weary feet to rest No bath hadst thou prepared; Yet hath this woman here, By thee with scorn decried, Washed them with many a tear, And with her tresses dried, And given them, from her store Of spikenard, cool relief, And kissed them o'er and o'er In penitential grief. Therefore her joy begins, Her prayer is heard in heaven; Though many are her sins, They all shall be forgiven!" Scant mercy he receives Whose love for God is small; But he whom God forgives The most, loves most of all.
(After the Meditation for Communion on Christmas Day in _Eucharistica_)
Welcome, thrice blessed day! thrice blessed hour! To hail you, every heart to Heaven is climbing, The while the snow in softly circling shower Draws down to meet them 'mid the joybell's chiming; Like blessed morsels of that manna bread Wherewith of old the Lord His People fed.