Magdalen.

Unheeded to her hips her dark robe fell;-- Her sweet head bends in agony of soul, Her long hair, hanging, wet with tears a-roll, Dissolving pearls of pain her grief to tell,

Her flushed face drooping in her hands doth dwell, Her beauteous flanks sob-shaken past control, Her tear-wet bosoms heaving with the whole, And over all the spikenard’s orient smell.

Speak quickly, Christ!--her tears erase her sin; Sweet Type of Peace, thou canst not her condemn! And lo! no man among us dares to stone!

“Weep not! Go forth!--new paths thy feet begin; Thy foes are dumb, my test confoundeth them; By love you fell, by wiser loves atone.”

Done at the Calamus House by Alex E. Wight MDCCCXCIX.

Now at the Calamus House Which is in Wellesley Hills a Village of Massachusetts in America Were Printed 650 Copies of this Booklet, and the Types Were Distributed Without any Plates Being Made

Some long lines have been rewrapped for readability in this plaintext edition.