Classic Poem

It is the ancient story lived anew.
Dost thou remember how the mighty Jew
Spoke at the table of the Pharisee
And puzzled all who heard Him; tenderly
Forgiving her whose soul was red with sin
And seared with lust? How that she entered in
Where sat the Lord, and cast her down and wept?
How to His feet she crept
And washed them with her tears?


Howe'er that be,
I have lived out this ancient tale with thee;
Only I am the sinner, thou the saint.
With heart bowed down and limbs grown strangely faint,
I creep unto thy feet; cleanse off with tears
The stains they got that followed, all these years
The guilty paths I made, the cruel ways
That led unto a blood-red night of haze.
They were my paths, and this for thee sufficed!
I gaze into thine eyes and see the Christ,
Calm-eyed, great-souled, the Pitier! I see
How much and yet how little after me
Thine aching feet have followed! see how deep
I grovel from the height that thou dost keep,
A sinner, yet unsoiled.


Lift thou me there
Unto the heaven of thy face and hair
That shines for me far off as summer dawn.
The night is gone!
I feel the sunrise quicken in my blood!
My soul leaps clean from out its lair of mud!

With nard I do anoint thee; at thy feet
I burn this myrrh of bitter and of sweet.

Lift thou me there
Unto the heaven of thy face and hair,
And make my soul complete!