Murillo's Magdalene.
9
I gaze upon thy soul-lit eyes upturned,
And oft I marvel that Murillo's grace,
In holy thought and holy musing learned,
Conceived the wondrous beauty of thy face.
What glow of sacred genius in him burned.
No stain of earth upon thy brow I trace.
Was face of mortal ever seen so fair?
Was face of mortal ever seen so sweet
Lies on thy neck, unbound, thy flowing hair,
Which dried, with golden threads, thy Master's feet.
Methinks those eyes, which saw thy risen Lord,
Have held the glory in them evermore,
And high above all earthly thoughts they soar
To dwell in Heaven and see the things of God!
And oft I marvel that Murillo's grace,
In holy thought and holy musing learned,
Conceived the wondrous beauty of thy face.
What glow of sacred genius in him burned.
No stain of earth upon thy brow I trace.
Was face of mortal ever seen so fair?
Was face of mortal ever seen so sweet
Lies on thy neck, unbound, thy flowing hair,
Which dried, with golden threads, thy Master's feet.
Methinks those eyes, which saw thy risen Lord,
Have held the glory in them evermore,
And high above all earthly thoughts they soar
To dwell in Heaven and see the things of God!
