[Written for the Sentinel]

The Awakening

And can it be but yesterday the Magdalene was I?How came I so it were not good to tell;Sufficeth it that now I know full well'Twas but an empty life of shame I ledWhen daily on men's wiles and smiles I fed;A nightmare in earth's short and transient dream.

How different was the smile of him at meatWhen, trembling sore, I stood me at his feet,Shrinking from the pure gaze that read my past,But drawn by love so great it held me fast!Fearful of Pharisee, my foe 'mongst men,I only gathered faltering courage whenThe Christ to me in tender accents spoke,And o'er his feet the alabaster broke.

September 20, 1913

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