W. Garrett Horder, comp. The Poets’ Bible: New Testament. 1895.
The Woman in the Temple
George MacDonald (1824–1905)A
Cold daylight, footsteps, cries!
The temple’s naked, shining space,
Aglare with judging eyes!
With terror-pallid lips,
To vulgar scorn her honour bare,
To vulgar taunts and quips,
Her shrinking soul to hide;
Lest, at uncurtained windows found,
Its shame be clear descried.
And tingle with the shame;
She sees not who beside her stands,
She is so bowed with blame.
Regards not priests nor wife;
An awful silence spreads around,
And wakes an inward strife.
Almost she hears aghast:
“Let him who from this sin is free,
At her the first stone cast.”
Her eyes bewildered rose;
She saw the one true friend she had,
Who loves her though he knows.
The blushes rise and spread:
No greater wonder sure had place
When Lazarus left the dead!
Dead conscience rises slow:
They, dumb before that awful guest,
Turn, one by one, and go.
Invades the silence round;
False pride, false shame, all false is dead;
She has the Master found.
Those cruel men withstood?
From him even shame she would not hide;
For him she will be good.
They two are left alone.
He turns and asks her, “Woman, where
Are thine accusers gone?
She answers, trembling sore.
“Neither do I condemn thee. Go,
And sin not any more.”
Be what she had not been?
We are not told; but I believe
His kindness made her clean.
Offences, hatreds dire;
Weak loves that selfish grow, and fail
And fall into the mire.
Our passion cleanse with pain;
Lord, thou didst make these miry feet—
Oh! wash them clean again.