Classic Poem

She bathed His feet with many a tear,
Feet wearied then for us so oft;
She wiped them with her flowing hair,
Embalmed with reverent touches soft.

She knew not of the bitter way
Those sacred feet had yet to tread,
Nor how the nails would pierce one day
Where now her costly balms were shed

She read the pity in His eyes,
To peace transmuting her despair;
She could not read what agonies
Must cloud the heaven she gazed on there.

He praised her love, her sacrifice,
But breathed not what His own must be,
Nor hinted what must be the price
Which made her pardon flow so free.

Then if her love and gifts were such,
Who little knew the depths of His;
If then indeed she " loved " Him " much, "
How, since she knows Him aShe is?