W. Garrett Horder, comp. The Poets’ Bible: New Testament. 1895.
The Woman That Was a Sinner
George MacDonald (18241905)H
Awoke her slumbering truth.
She judged him well; her bonds she broke,
And fled to him for ruth.
She wiped them with her hair.
Her kisses—call them not unmeet,
When they were welcome there.
Could love’s ambition teach?
Her eyes, her lips, her hair down go,
In love’s despair of speech.
Owns her a woman still;
It is impossible henceforth
For her to stoop to ill.
The radiance to the day;
A horror to herself no more,
Nor yet a castaway!
And outspread lavish hair,
Love, shame, and hopes, and griefs, and fears,
Mingle in worship rare.
About the holy feet;
Didst only bless the holy head
With spikenard’s ointment meet.
Thy heart the lesson caught,
The abandonment so humble—bold,
From her whom pardon taught.
The holy feet around,
Such plenteous tears thou couldst not find
As this sad woman found.
And love, the woful sweet!
Be thou content to bless his head,
Let this one crown his feet.
Her tears are pure as rain;
Eye not her hair’s untwisted coil,
Baptised in pardoning pain.
Her iron bands have burst;
Her love could never have been such
Had not his love been first.
Who hardly know her case:
There is no sin but has its cure,
Its all-consuming grace.
’Mong shards the silver dove,
But raised her pure that she might tell
Her sisters how to love.
Was he despised and sad?—
Yes; and yet never mighty man
Such perfect homage had.
Her love grew so intense,
We, sinners all, come round Thy feet—
Lord, make no difference.