Classic Poem

He is coming, she said, to Simon's feast,
The prophet of Galilee,
Though multitudes around him throng
In longing his face to see.

He enters the home as Simon's guest,
But he gives no welcome kiss;
He brings no water to bathe his feet —
Why is Simon so remiss?

If a prophet, he will surely know
The guilt of my darkened years;
With broken heart I'll see his face,
And bathe his feet with my tears.

No holy rabbi lays his hand
In blessing on my head;
No loving voice floats o'er the path,
The downer path I tread.

Unto the Master's side she pressed,
A penitent, rail and fair,
Rained on his feet a flood of tears,
And then wiped them with her hair.

Over the face of Simon swept
An air of puzzled surprise;
Can my guest a holy prophet be,
And not this woman despise?

Christ saw the thoughts that Simon's heart
Had written upon his face,
Kindly turned to the sinful one
In her sorrow and disgrace.

Where Simon only saw the stains,
Where sin and shame were rife,
Christ looked beneath and saw the perms
Or a fair, outflowering life.

Like one who breaks a galling chain,
And sets a prisoner free,
He rent her fetters with the words,
" Thy sins are forgiven thee. "

God be praised for the gracious words
Which came through that woman's touch,
That souls redeemed thro' God's dear Son
May learn to love him so much;

That souls once red with guilt and crime
May their crimson stains outgrow;
The scarlet spots upon their lives
Become whiter than driven snow.