Behold her seated at the Master's feet,
Her face upturned to His pure, Godlike face,
Wherein dwell tend'rest yearning, truth, and grace,
Love's genial rays that glad her soul does greet.
She smiles; the power in His calm voice sweet,
That seven times drove demons from her soul,
She inly feels,—the power that made her whole,—
And lost in love, thinks not of drink or meat.
Gone the gray centuries; the ghostly years,
Enrobed with History's vestments, brightly gleam
With deeds of faith and love, and holy tears.
Yet o'er them soft I hear, as in a dream,
The Master's voice: "O burdened, troubled heart,
Like Magdalene, choose thou that better part."