Classic Poem

She stood at Jesus' feet,
And bathed them with her tears,
While o'er her spirit surg'd
The guilt and shame of years.

Though Simon saw the grief
Upon the fair young face,
The stern man coldly thought
For her this is no place.

Her feet have turned aside
From paths of truth and right,
If Christ a prophet be
He'll spurn her from his sight.

And silently he watched
The child of sin and care,
Uncoil upon Christ's feet
Her wealth of raven hair.

O Life! she sadly thought,
I know thy bane and blight,
And yet I fain would find
The path of peace and right.

I've seen the leper cleansed,
I've seen the sick made whole,
But mine's a deeper wound—
It eats into the soul.

And men have trampled down
The beauty once their prize,
While women pass me by
With cold, averted eyes.

But now a hope of peace
Steals o'er my weary breast,
And from these lips of love
There comes a sense of rest.

The tender, loving Christ
Gazed on her tearful eyes,
Then saw on Simon's face
A look of cold surprise.

“Simon,” the Saviour said,
“Thou wast to me remiss,
I came thy guest, but thou
Didst give no welcome kiss.

“Thou broughtest from thy fount
No water cool and sweet,
But she, with many tears,
Hath bent and kissed my feet.

“Thou pouredst on my head
No oil with kindly care,
But she anoints my feet,
And wipes them with her hair.

“I know her steps have strayed,
Her sins they many be,
But she with love hath bound
Her erring heart to me.”

How sweetly fell his words
Upon her bruised heart,
When, like a ghastly train,
She felt her sins depart.

What music heard on earth,
Or rapture moving heaven
Were like those precious words—
“Thy sins were all forgiven!”