To S. Mary Magdalen.
'Mid the white spouses of the Sacred Heart,
After its Queen, the nearest, dearest, thou.
Yet the auréola around thy brow
Is not the virgins'. Thine a throne apart.
Nor yet, my Saint, does faith-illumined art
Thy hand with palm of martyrdom endow:
And when thy hair is all it will allow
Of glory to thy head, we do not start.
O more than virgin in thy penitent love!
And more than martyr in thy passionate woe!
How should thy sisters equal thee above,
Who knelt not with thee on the gory sod?
Or where the crown our worship could bestow
Like that long gold which wiped the feet of God?