Bright was that Light, and wondrous bright,
'Twas brighter than the sun;
As then it shone, so shines it now,
And shall when Time is done.
And all along the pathway
Was a track of throbbing light;
Where the Christ had gone His footsteps shone,
Like stars in a velvet night.
'Twas the spent soul of Iscariot
Was like the wind-blown dust,
As nearer still, and near, and near,
He bent and crept, in doubt, and fear,
He came because he must.
'Twas the sick soul of Iscariot
That drew from out the night
And the full of his sin was known to him
In the Shining of the Light.
In the rim of the Light he laid him,
Repented of his sin.
"I wotted not! I wotted not!
Dear Master, take me in!"
And as he lay there sorrowing,
Up came the felon crew.
They flailed him with their dead bodies
They heeded not his rue.
They flailed him with their dead bodies,
They heeded not their spleen.
"I wotted not! I wotted not!
Dear Master, take me in!"
And then … a Vision and a Voice,—
And the Word made manifest,—
"Lay down thy load where I abode,
And I will give thee rest!
"And ye,—no more hunt Iscariot!
He repents him of his sin.
And never a soul that repenteth
But he may enter in.
"This Day the Door is opened
That shall never close again,
And never a soul that would come in
Shall seek to come in vain."