The Complete Poetical Works of George MacDonald. George MacDonald

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      XII.

       MARY MAGDALENE.

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      With wandering eyes and aimless zeal,

       She hither, thither, goes;

       Her speech, her motions, all reveal

       A mind without repose.

      She climbs the hills, she haunts the sea,

       By madness tortured, driven;

       One hour's forgetfulness would be

       A gift from very heaven!

      She slumbers into new distress;

       The night is worse than day:

       Exulting in her helplessness,

       Hell's dogs yet louder bay.

      The demons blast her to and fro;

       She has no quiet place,

       Enough a woman still, to know

       A haunting dim disgrace.

      A human touch! a pang of death!

       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 hell's despair

       Dissolves in ecstasy?

      That man did touch thee! Eyes divine

       Make sunrise in thy soul;

       Thou seëst love in order shine:—

       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 God 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 God's heart!