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,