MAGDALENE’S DAYBREAK
I walked the final watch of night, ere dawn,
the darkness heavy with the spices’ scent,
and would anoint His body, pour upon
His battered, holy face tears with myrrh blent.
Fear shook my trust, just as the earth was shaken;
eternity elapsed. When first my sight
beheld the tomb, I wept as one forsaken,
my final service cheated by the night.
Where had they taken Him, my wounded Master?
I cried aloud, a gardener’s aid besought,
then marveled, while my heart beat ever faster:
He spoke my name, and terror became naught.
Before the new world’s Light I did adore;
He lives, and now the night shall be no more.
11
BAYLEY BULLETIN, JUN-AUG 2016
