The weekly miner. [volume] (Butte, Mont.) 1878-1881, 1879-10-14
STONE THE wOMAN-LEr THE MAN
GO FREE.

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The noontide rests upon Jerusalem,
The air liz golden, and the azure sky
bends DER the lovely land the trees beyond
Make whispered music with soft. clashing arms,
And blend their low tones with the voice OF
phe sigh Of winds. the call of mating birds,
The distant laughter In the reapers, neios'
And gentle FOOTBALLS, as the camels pass.
The streets are silent. for the idle drones
Who bring no honey to the human hive,
But swarm at corners and at open doors,
Eager for anything to stimulate
The dull monotony of idle hours,
Have sought the temple where the Savior sits,
To calmly ~criticise his mode of speech,
And hear IL He, an obscure Nazarene,
can fashion it with such strange subtlenesS,
As thrills, men say, the coolest listning heart
But now the dreamful silentness is DER;
A group of Scribes aud Pharisees appear,
And in their midst a wretched woman moves,
A Ae sl Sea uPG IS b ,as i in ntser 11 eee despair say;
Her hands are clasped upon her beating breast,
And burning tears are fallingdown the cheeks,
Where conscious sin has sent the rushing blood.
Shame clothes her as a garment, Wh1ie hcr soul
Shudders within its desecIated shrine,
Stained and unutterably dishonored,
so sad q sight, SO handsomely deformed,
That angels weep and shudder as they gaze.
They reach the temple in a moment more,
The sinner stands before the Savlor's face.
How wonderful that face, the burning tongue
OF seraphim would fail TO picture it.
Divinely sweet, unfathomably calm,
Unutterably tender: in the eyes
Patience so GOd-like and COMPASSIONATE,
a TOOK Of Mary round the sacred lips,
That wear a sign of WEAKNESS represSed,,
AS though pain slept a little further back.
How young He seems, and yet lie seems not
But grave and gentle. as ii many cares
Pressed on an infinitely loving heart.
The trembling woman kneels before her Judge,
And clasps her hands upon her guilty face:
Never before seemed purity SO pure,
Never before seemed sin so horrible,
She did not plead, she knelt there clothed in
An outcast and degraded-weeping knelt,
Waiting the words,-''Th The woman mus. be
The crowd draws near. to hear what Jesus says,
And silence steals upon the multitude.
The sunlight falls athwart the Temple floor:
Through open dOOrways signs The fragrant wind;
The little children patter with soft steps
In quiet corners, Knowing not as yet
Life's tragedy, intense and passionate.
But Jesus speaks; the Temple grows more
huShed,
"Let him." He says. who knows that he is
Cast the first stone at her" The men look up,
Startled Il little then they hang their heads,
And bushes gather on the brows unused
To show such color. Slowly, one by one.
Without a word. they stink abaSlled away,
IT'LL Jesus and the woman stand apart.
go. sin no more he says. And forth she
goes,
To mend the ruined beauty of her life,
To wash her soul in penite .tial tears,
And ever after. with undyIng love,
To follow Christ lalnenting.
But where is he. the sharer of her guilt?
The man whom God appointed as the head,
The shield of woman in her weaknesses
Whom she should look upon as less than God,
But noble, lovable, and worthy trust.
Incapable of wrOnging that weak heart
That seeks its strength in meelzly loving him.
Is he not. too. in deepest grief and shame,
Filled to O~'ert1owing with an agony
That cannot, like the woman's. find relief
In tears that scOrch and dry upon the cheek?
Is he not, too, surrounded by IA group
Thn lnnk on n / r, with ~ In inu hnl1ilo nm
His shamcd manhood, his insulted God,
The ruin wrought upon auother's soul,
Heaplng upon him singing words of ScOrn,
That. burning in his ears, awake the sense
OF utter degradation?
A sumptuous feast is spread upon his board,
And joyous guests are pledging him in wine;
He's clothed Ii in purple, and the flashing light
Of diamonds sparkles on his breast and hands;
Odorous scents are stealing from his robes,
And watching slaves are hanging on his looks;
And dancing girls are waiting in the halls,
With Tyre and sistrum to beguile the hour,
And touch the senses into soft delight;
And half-pleased smiles are playing round his
And conscious laughter ripples on the air,
AS pleasant banter lightly tells the tale,
And friendship merrily accuses him
Of having won a woman from her lord.
Yes. stone the woman-let the man go free!
Draw back your skirts, lest they perchance may
touch
Her garments as she passes; but to him
Put forth a willing hand, to clasp with his
That led her to destructisn and disgrace.
Shut up from her the sacred ways of toll,
That she no more may earn an honest meal,
But ope to him all favorable paths,
Where he may win distinction. Give to him
Fair pressed-dOwn measures of life's sweetest
joys.
Pass her, o, maiden, with a pure. proud face,
II she puts out a poor, polluted palm;
But lay thy hand in his on bridal day,
And swear to cling to him with wifely love
And tender reverence. Trust him who led
A sister woman to a fearful fate.
Yes, stone the woman-let the man go free!
Let one soul suffer for the guilt of two
It is the doctrine of a hurrlcd world.
Too out of breath for holding balances
Where nice distinctions and injustices
Are calmly weighed. But, ali ! how will it be
On that strange day of final fire and flame,
When men shall wither with a mystic fear,
And all shall stand before the one true Judge?
Shall sex make THEN a difference in sin?
Shall He. the searcher of the HIDDEN heart,
In His eternal and divine decree,
Condemn the woman and forgive the man.?
Irish M0nthbi