Now that the wild accusing throng had crept,
Silenced by their own conscience, one by one
Out of the temple precincts, and the loud
Clamor of taunts was stilled, the accusers gone,
She stood alone before this man who seemed
Remote, absorbed in writing on the ground.
She stood—forgetting time, and place, and fear,
A strange, eternal peace had wrapped her round.
Before true holiness, which drew all power,
All being, life, and love from God alone,
Before true vision, which could penetrate
The mask of error and reveal God's son,
She felt herself awakening as from sleep,
Roused by that healing mental touch; he saw
How far her night was spent, he raised his head:
"Neither do I condemn thee: . . . sin no more."
A blessed purity, clear as a mountain stream,
Flooded her thought, its troubled dream repealed.
Her spirit singing rose, she saw her sins
Written in earth—and knew that she was healed.
Poems
"Neither do I condemn thee"
John 8:3-11
From the April 1954 issue of The Christian Science Journal
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