Classic Poem

I

Mary, when thou wert a virgin,
Ere the first, the fatal sin
Stole into thy bosom's chamber,
Leading six companions in;
Ere those eyes had wept an error,
What thy beauty must have been!

II

Ere those lips had paled their crimson,
Quivering with the soul's despair,
Ere the smile they wore had withered
In thine agony of prayer,
Or, instead of pearls, the tear-drops
Gleamed amid thy streaming hair;

III

While, in ignorance of evil,
Still thy heart serenely dreamed,
And the morning light of girlhood
On thy cheeks' young garden beamed,
Where the abundant rose was blushing,
Not of earth couldst thou have seemed!

IV

When thy frailty fell upon thee,
Lovely wert thou, even then;
Shame itself could scarce disarm thee
Of the charms that vanquished men.
Which of Salem's purest daughters
Matched the sullied Magdalen?

V

But thy Master's eye beheld thee,
Foul and all unworthy heaven;
Pitied, pardoned, purged thy spirit
Of its black, pernicious leaven;
Drove the devils from out the temple —
All the dark, the guilty seven.

VI

Oh, the beauty of repentance!
Mary, tenfold fairer now
Art thou with disheveled tresses,
And that anguish on thy brow!
Ah, might every sinful sister
Grow in beauty, even as thou!