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!