Christ did not need their gifts; and yet
Did either Mary once regret
Her offering? Did Salome fret
Over the unused aloes? Nay!
They counted not as waste, that day,
What they had brought their Lord. The way
Home seemed the path to heaven. They bare,
Thenceforth, about the robes they ware
The clinging perfume everywhere.
So, ministering as erst did these,
Go women forth by twos and threes
(Unmindful of their morning ease),
Through tragic darkness, murk and dim,
Where'er they see the faintest rim,
Of promise,—all for sake of him
Who rose from Joseph's tomb. They hold
It just such joy as those of old,
To tell the tale the Marys told.
Myrrh-bearers still,—at home, abroad,
What paths have holy women trod,
Burdened with votive gifts for God,—
Rare gifts whose chiefest worth was priced
By this one thought, that all sufficed:
Their spices had been bruised for Christ!
MARGARET JUNKIN PRESTON.
[Footnote A: Myrophores, a name given to the Marys, in Greek
Christian art.]