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  Mary Magdalen  

 

Blessed, yet sinful one, and broken-hearted!
    The crowd are pointing at the thing forlorn,
         In wonder and in scorn!
Thou weepest days of innocence departed;
    Thou weepest, and thy tears have power to move
         The Lord to pity and love.

The greatest of thy follies is forgiven,
    Even for the least of all the tears that shine
         On that pale cheek of thine.
Thou didst kneel down, to Him who came from heaven,
    Evil and ignorant, and thou shalt rise
         Holy, and pure, and wise.

It is not much that to the fragrant blossom
    The ragged brier should change, the bitter fir
         Distil Arabian myrrh;
Nor that, upon the wintry desert's bosom,
    The harvest should rise plenteous, and the swain
         Bear home the abundant grain.

But come and see the bleak and barren mountains
    Thick to their tops with roses; come and see
         Leaves on the dry dead tree.
The perished plant, set out by lining fountains,
    Grows fruitful, and its beauteous branches rise,
         Forever, toward the skies.

       - William Cullen Bryant


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