Those women who their Christ and Lord
    Aided by gentle ministry,
    Have gained their race a rich reward,
    Treasured in sacred history.

    Joanna is unknown at court,
    Although entitled to be there;
    The record of her life’s report
    In fadeless glory has its share.

    Susanna’s name is intertwined,
    A gem as sparkling and as clear
    As those with which it is enshrined;
    And this is all we know of her.

    And those whose names have not been given
    Are now in realms of light and love,
    Praising him mid the choirs of heaven,
    Crowned with his joy and peace and love.

    Mary of Magdala was brought
    From mysteries strange and dark and drear
    To heights with joy and gladness fraught;
    She radiates a luster clear.

    Those chimes from Bethany will ring
    With power that will not, cannot die;
    Martha’s and Mary’s names will sing
    Long as the flitting centuries fly.

    That spikenard, which ’twas wholly meet
    Mary should pour upon his head,
    Has filled with fragrance rare and sweet
    Succeeding ages as they’ve fled.

    And when a critic standing near
    Censured her act, misunderstood,
    Christ spoke so that the world might hear;
    He said, “She hath done what she could.”

    This her memorial while the sun
    Traverses the blue dome of heaven,
    Fulfilling while time’s cycles run
    Christ’s prophecy which then was given.

    Unto the end these faithful few,
    Regardless of all pain and loss,
    Did what their hearts and hands could do,
    Though bowed with wonder at the cross.

    Such love they could not understand,
    Such love unto his latest breath;
    That love had our redemption planned
    Both in his life and in his death.

    They haunt the tomb in which he lay,
    Grief-stricken, desolate, and lone;
    But Magdalene at break of day
    Found that her precious charge was gone.

    Two angels said, “Why weepest thou?”
    The angels knew ere they inquired. 
    They knew her heart could triumph now,
    These sinless ones by love inspired.

    She, weeping, told her loss and woe,
    Then answered thus a questioner near: 
    “Sir, if thou dost his refuge know,
    Tell me.  I seek him vainly here.”

    “Mary!” She listened to her name
    Uttered by Christ, her risen Lord. 
    “Master?” her trembling lips exclaim,
    Then wondered, worshipped, and adored.

    Her joy is ours!  Oh, may we see
    That joy more plainly every day! 
    Christ lives and loves eternally,—­
    Swift feet such tidings should convey.

    Eternal life and heavenly rest
    He purchased by death’s agony,
    That whosoever will be blest
    With glorious immortality.