The Magdalen At The Madonna's Shrine.

O Madonna, pure and holy,
    From sin's dark stain ever free,
Refuge of the sinner lowly,
    I come - I come to thee!
Now with wreaths of sinful pleasure
    Yet my tresses twined among;
From the dance's giddy measure,
    From the idle jest and song.

See! I tear away the flowers
    From my perfumed golden hair,
Closely tended in past hours
    With such jealous, sinful care;
Never more for me they blossom,
    Not for me those jewels vain:
On my arms or brow or bosom,
    They shall never shine again.

Dost thou wonder at my daring
    Thus to seek thy sacred shrine,
When the sinner's lot despairing,
    Wretched - hopeless - should be mine?
To the instincts high of woman
    Most unfaithful and untrue;
Yet Madonna, hope inspires me,
    For thou wast a woman too.

Evil promptings, dark-despairing,
    Whisper: "Leave this sacred spot;
Back to sinful joys, repairing,
    In them live and struggle not!"
But a bright hope tells that heaven
    May by me e'en yet be won,
That I yet may be forgiven,
    Mary, by thy spotless Son!

Yes! I look on thy mild features,
    Full of dove-like, tender love -
Once the humblest of God's creatures,
    Now with Him enthroned above!
Every trait angelic breathing
    Sweetest promises of peace;
And the smile thy soft lips wreathing
    Tell me that my griefs shall cease.

Soft the evening shadows gather
    But no longer shall I wait,
I will rise and seek the Father,
    For it is not yet too late;
And when earthly cares oppress me,
    When life's paths my bruised feet pain;
Hither shall I come to rest me,
    And new strength and courage gain!