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!