AN OLD STORY. 145
��AN OLD STORY.
��BY WILL E. WALKER.
Gently the dew is descending at even, Over the land where the Saviour abides ;
Lightly the breeze moveth, kindly caressing Flowers whose beauty the darkness soon hides.
Bethany, let thy best treasures of beauty, All of the comfort which thou canst afford,
Be at the service of that kingly stranger Whom thou dost shelter, thy Master and Lord.
Unto the dwelling of Simon the leper
Jesus is going as teacher and guest ; Ever in kindness, instructing, reproving,
Giving the contrite the gift that is best.
Slowly advancing through byways and shadows,
Walketh a woman of sorrowful mien ; Weary of sinning, and struggling, and living,
Seeks she a helper untried and unseen.
She in her penitence, freely hath purchased Ointment, most precious and fragrant, to give
Him as an offering ; would he accept it, Guide her, and help her a pure life to live?
Now she has found Him, and sorrowing, kisses Feet that are wayworn with seeking the lost ;
Others may murmur, but what doth it matter, Since He appro veth the offering's cost.
List' as He speaks to the wondering people, Teaching this truth by a parable new, —
Love more aboundeth where much is forgiven, Hence she hath done what from Simon was due.
Then He consoleth the penitent sinner, Granting the blessing tears silently crave ;
" Go thou in peace, not in vain hast thou sought me, Faith that hath moved thee will guide thee and save.
Bethany sleeps beneath night's shrouding mantle ;
Glitter the stars in the heaven above, Dearer and better than all of earth's splendor,
Comes to the pardoned one God's own love.
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