The poetical works of George MacDonald Volume I Part 51

And in a low delight Thou liest, waiting for new breath.

For morning out of night.

Thou risest up: the earth is fair, The wind is cool; thou art free!

Is it a dream of h.e.l.l's despair Dissolves in ecstasy?

That man did touch thee! Eyes divine Make sunrise in thy soul; Thou seest love in order s.h.i.+ne:-- His health hath made thee whole!

Thou, sharing in the awful doom, Didst help thy Lord to die; Then, weeping o'er his empty tomb, Didst hear him _Mary_ cry.

He stands in haste; he cannot stop; Home to his G.o.d he fares: "Go tell my brothers I go up To my Father, mine and theirs."

Run, Mary! lift thy heavenly voice; Cry, cry, and heed not how; Make all the new-risen world rejoice-- Its first apostle thou!

What if old tales of thee have lied, Or truth have told, thou art All-safe with him, whate'er betide-- Dwell'st with him in G.o.d's heart!

XIII.

_THE WOMAN IN THE TEMPLE_.

A still dark joy! A sudden face!

Cold daylight, footsteps, cries!

The temple's naked, s.h.i.+ning s.p.a.ce, Aglare with judging eyes!

All in abandoned guilty hair, With terror-pallid lips, To vulgar scorn her honour bare, To lewd remarks and quips,

Her eyes she fixes on the ground Her shrinking soul to hide, Lest, at uncurtained windows found, Its shame be clear descried.

All idle hang her listless hands, They tingle with her shame; She sees not who beside her stands, She is so bowed with blame.

He stoops, he writes upon the ground, Regards nor priests nor wife; An awful silence spreads around, And wakes an inward strife.

Then comes a voice that speaks for thee, Pale woman, sore aghast: "Let him who from this sin is free At her the first stone cast!"

Ah then her heart grew slowly sad!

Her eyes bewildered rose; She saw the one true friend she had, Who loves her though he knows.

He stoops. In every charnel breast Dead conscience rises slow: They, dumb before that awful guest, Turn, one by one, and go.

Up in her deathlike, ashy face Rises the living red; No greater wonder sure had place When Lazarus left the dead!

She is alone with him whose fear Made silence all around; False pride, false shame, they come not near, She has her saviour found!

Jesus hath spoken on her side, Those cruel men withstood!

From him her shame she will not hide!

For him she _will_ be good!

He rose; he saw the temple bare; They two are left alone!

He said unto her, "Woman, where Are thine accusers gone?"

"Hath none condemned thee?" "Master, no,"

She answers, trembling sore.

"Neither do I condemn thee. Go, And sin not any more."

She turned and went.--To hope and grieve?

Be what she had not been?

We are not told; but I believe His kindness made her clean.

Our sins to thee us captive hale-- Ambitions, hatreds dire; Cares, fears, and selfish loves that fail, And sink us in the mire:

Our captive-cries with pardon meet; Our pa.s.sion cleanse with pain; Lord, thou didst make these miry feet-- Oh, wash them clean again!

XIV.

_MARTHA_.

With joyful pride her heart is high: Her humble house doth hold The man her nation's prophecy Long ages hath foretold!

Poor, is he? Yes, and lowly born: Her woman-soul is proud To know and hail the coming morn Before the eyeless crowd.

At her poor table will he eat?

He shall be served there With honour and devotion meet For any king that were!

'Tis all she can; she does her part, Profuse in sacrifice; Nor dreams that in her unknown heart A better offering lies.

But many crosses she must bear; Her plans are turned and bent; Do what she can, things will not wear The form of her intent.

With idle hands and drooping lid, See Mary sit at rest!

Shameful it was her sister did No service for their guest!

Dear Martha, one day Mary's lot Must rule thy hands and eyes; Thou, all thy household cares forgot, Must sit as idly wise!

But once more first she set her word To bar her master's ways, Crying, "By this he stinketh, Lord, He hath been dead four days!"

Her housewife-soul her brother dear Would fetter where he lies!

Ah, did her buried best then hear, And with the dead man rise?

XV.

_MARY_.

I.

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