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 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 prayers 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 a broken heart !