The Woman that Was a Sinner

by George MacDonald

This poem spoke into the pit of my soul today. Therefore it needs to be shared.

The Woman that Was a Sinner

His face, His words, her heart awoke,
Awoke her slumbering truth;
She judged him well; her bonds she broke,
And fled to him for truth.

With tears she washed His weary feet;
She wiped them with her hair;
Her kisses-call them not unmeet,
When they were welcome there.

What saint a richer crown could throw,
Could love's ambition teach?
Her eyes, her lips, her hair, down go,
In love's despair of speech.

His holy manhood's perfect worth
Owns her a woman still;
It is impossible henceforth,
For her to stoop to ill.

Her to herself His words restore,
The radiance to the day;
A horror to herself no more,
Nor yet a castaway!

And so, in kisses, ointment, tears,
And outspread lavish hair,
Love, shame, and hope, and griefs, and fears,
Mingle in worship rare.

Mary, thy hair thou didst not spread
About the holy feet;
Didst only bless the holy head
With spikenard's ointment sweet.

Or if thou didst, as some would hold
Thy heart the lesson caught,
The abandonment so humble-bold,
From whom her pardon taught.

And if thy hair thou too didst wind
The holy feet around,
Such plenteous tears thou couldst not find
As this sad woman found

Let her in grief the first be read,
And love the woeful sweet;
Be thou content to bless His head,
Let this one crown His feet.

Simon, such kisses will not soil;
Her tears are pure as rain;
Eye not her hair's untwisted coil,
Baptized in pardoning pain.

For God hath pardoned all her much;
Her iron bands hath burst;
Her love could never have been such,
Had not His love come first.

But oh! rejoice, ye sisters pure,
Who hardly know her case;
There is no sin but has its cure,
And all-consuming grace.

He did not leave her soul in hell,
Mong shards the silver dove;
But raised her pure that she might tell
Her sisters how to love.

She gave Him all your best love can.
Was He despised and sad?
Yes; and yet never mighty man
Such perfect homage had.

Jesus, by whose forgiveness sweet
Her love grew so intense,
We, sinners all, come round Thy feet-
Lord, make no difference.