They who have loved the most
The most have been forgiven,
And with the Devil's host
Most mightily have striven.
And so it was of old
With her, once all unclean,
Now of the saints white-stoled--
Mary, the Magdalen.
For though in Satan's power
She seemed for ever fast,
Her Saviour in one hour
Seven devils from her cast.
O'erburthened by the weight
Of her black bosom sin,
As Christ with Simon sate
At meat, she had stolen in.
Toward her Lord she drew;
She knelt by Him unchid;
The latchet of His shoe
Her trembling hands undid.
Foot-water none was by
Nor towel, as was meet,
To comfort and to dry
His hot way-weary feet;
But with her blinding tears
She bathes them now instead,
And dries them with the hairs
Of her abased head.
And so, when Simon looked,
And pondered, evil-eyed,
No longer Jesus brooked
His thought, but thus replied;
"Simon, no kiss of peace
Thou gav'st me at thy door,
No oil, my head to ease,
Didst thou upon it pour,
Nay, for thy bidden guest
So little hast thou cared,
His weary feet to rest
No bath hadst thou prepared;
Yet hath this woman here,
By thee with scorn decried,
Washed them with many a tear,
And with her tresses dried,
And given them, from her store
Of spikenard, cool relief,
And kissed them o'er and o'er
In penitential grief.
Therefore her joy begins,
Her prayer is heard in heaven;
Though many are her sins,
They all shall be forgiven!"
Scant mercy he receives
Whose love for God is small;
But he whom God forgives
The most, loves most of all.