A WOMAN. 
                             O Master! 
Forgive me!  For I said within myself,
If I so much as touch his garment’s hem,
I shall be whole.

CHRISTUS. 
         Be of good comfort, daughter! 
Thy faith hath made thee whole.  Depart in peace.

A MESSENGER from the house. 
Why troublest thou the Master?  Hearest thou not
The flute players, and the voices of the women
Singing their lamentation?  She is dead!

THE MINSTRELS AND MOURNERS. 
We have girded ourselves with sackcloth! 
We have covered our heads with ashes! 
For our young men die, and our maidens
Swoon in the streets of the city;
And into their mother’s bosom
They pour out their souls like water!

CHRISTUS, going in. 
Give place.  Why make ye this ado, and weep? 
She is not dead, but sleepeth.

THE MOTHER, from within. 
                          Cruel Death! 
To take away front me this tender blossom! 
To take away my dove, my lamb, my darling!

THE MINSTRELS AND MOURNERS. 
He hath led me and brought into darkness,
Like the dead of old in dark places! 
He hath bent his bow, and hath set me
Apart as a mark for his arrow! 
He hath covered himself with a cloud,
That our prayer should not pass through and reach him!

THE CROWD. 
He stands beside her bed!  He takes her hand! 
Listen, he speaks to her!

CHRISTUS, within. 
                         Maiden, arise!

THE CROWD. 
See, she obeys his voice!  She stirs!  She lives! 
Her mother holds her folded in her arms! 
O miracle of miracles!  O marvel!

IX

THE TOWER OF MAGDALA

MARY MAGDALENE. 
Companionless, unsatisfied, forlorn,
I sit here in this lonely tower, and look
Upon the lake below me, and the hills
That swoon with heat, and see as in a vision
All my past life unroll itself before me. 
The princes and the merchants come to me,
Merchants of Tyre and Princes of Damascus. 
And pass, and disappear, and are no more;
But leave behind their merchandise and jewels,
Their perfumes, and their gold, and their disgust. 
I loathe them, and the very memory of them
Is unto me as thought of food to one
Cloyed with the luscious figs of Dalmanutha! 
What if hereafter, in the long hereafter
Of endless joy or pain, or joy in pain,
It were my punishment to be with them
Grown hideous and decrepit in their sins,
And hear them say:  Thou that hast brought us here,
Be unto us as thou hast been of old! 
I look upon this raiment that I wear,
These silks, and these embroideries, and they seem
Only as cerements wrapped about my limbs! 
I look upon these rings thick set with pearls,
And emerald and amethyst and jasper,
And they are burning coals upon my flesh!