MARY MAGDALENE.
Hush! ’tis our Lord himself who comes this way,
The wounds made by the thorns still on His brow,
His hands and feet marked with the cruel nails.
MARY.
It is the Master and my fears are gone—
O, hark! He speaks. How often have we heard
That voice so filled with peace and tenderness?
Dear Lord, we fall and worship at Thy feet.
MARY MAGDALENE.
O risen Son of God!
Give me one hand pierced on the cross for me,
That I may place it on my heart and say,
For my transgression was He wounded sore,
Bruised, shamed, and hurt for my iniquity.
MARY.
We walked, O Master, in a maze of doubt,
Misgiving, grief, and great perplexity,
Knowing not where to turn, what to believe,
Then, through the tumult did we hear Thee say,
‘All Hail!’ O, words of cheer! O, greeting, glad!
MARY MAGDALENE.
These words shall be a song—a song of joy
For a sad world to sing, a glorious song
Of triumph, and immortality,
The glad notes shall ring clearly up to heaven,
And echo down through hell. All Hail!
The Son of God
Hath left the grave and given us Life,
All Hail!