A Hidden Life and Other Poems Part 37

Ah, Martha! one day thou like her, Or here, or far beyond, Will sit as still, lest, but to stir, Should break the charmed bond.

XV.

MARY.

1.

She sitteth at the Master's feet In motionless employ; Her ears, her heart, her soul complete Drinks in the tide of joy.

She is the Earth, and He the Sun; He shineth forth her leaves; She, in new life from darkness won, Gives back what she receives.

Ah! who but she the glory knows Of life, pure, high, intense; Whose holy calm breeds awful shows, Transfiguring the sense!

The life in voice she drinks like wine; The Word an echo found; Her ear the world, where Thought divine Incarnate was in sound.

Her holy eyes, brimful of light, Shine all unseen and low; As if the radiant words all night Forth at those orbs would go.

The opening door reveals a face Of anxious household state: "Car'st thou not, Master, for my case, That I alone should wait?"

Heavy with light, she lifts those eyes To Him who calmly heard; Ready that moment to arise, And go, before the word.

Her fear is banished by his voice, Her fluttering hope set free: "The needful thing is Mary's choice, She shall remain with me."

Oh, joy to every doubting heart, Doing the thing it would, If He, the Holy, take its part, And call its choice the good!

2.

Not now as then his words are poured Into her lonely ears; But many guests are at the board, And many tongues she hears.

With sacred foot she cometh slow, With daring, trembling tread; With shadowing worship bendeth low Above the G.o.dlike head.

The sacred chrism in snowy stone A gracious odour sends.

Her little h.o.a.rd, so slowly grown, In one full act she spends.

She breaks the box, the honoured thing!

The ointment pours amain; Her priestly hands anoint her King, And He shall live and reign.

They called it waste. Ah, easy well!

Their love they could endure; For her, her heart did ache and swell, That she forgot the poor.

She meant it for the coming crown; He took it for the doom; And his obedience laid Him down, Crowned in the quiet tomb.

XVI.

THE WOMAN THAT WAS A SINNER

She washes them with sorrow sweet, She wipes them with her hair; Her kisses soothe the weary feet, To all her kisses bare.

The best of woman, beauty's crown, She spends upon his feet; Her eyes, her lips, her hair, flung down, In one devotion meet.

His face, his words, her heart had woke.

She judged Him well, in sooth: Believing Him, her bonds she broke, And fled to Him for truth.

His holy manhood's perfect worth Redeems the woman's ill: Her thanks intense to Him burn forth, Who owns her woman still.

And so, in kisses, ointment, tears, And outspread lavish hair, An earnest of the coming years, Ascends her thankful prayer.

If Mary too her hair did wind The holy feet around; Such tears no virgin eyes could find, As this sad woman found.

And if indeed his wayworn feet With love she healed from pain; This woman found the homage meet, And taught it her again.

The first in grief, ah I let her be, And love that springs from woe; Woe soothed by Him more tenderly That sin doth make it flow.

Simon, such kisses will not soil; Her tears are pure as rain; Her hair--'tis Love unwinds the coil, Love and her sister Pain.

If He be kind, for life she cares; A light lights up the day; She to herself a value bears, Not yet a castaway.

And evermore her heart arose, And ever sank away; For something crowned Him o'er her woes, More than her best could say.

Rejoice, sweet sisters, holy, pure, Who hardly know her case: There is no sin but has its cure, But finds its answering grace.

Her heart, although it sinned and sank, Rose other hearts above: Bless her, dear sisters, bless and thank, For teaching how to love.

He from his own had welcome sad-- "Away with him," said they; Yet never lord or poet had Such homage in his day.

Ah Lord! in whose forgiveness sweet, Our life becomes intense!

We, brothers, sisters, crowd thy feet-- Ah! make no difference.

THE END.