She poured the precious ointment on his feet,
Adoring, wiped them with her hair.
Fragrance of spikenard filled the house
And graced that feast at Bethany.
Whoever reads the story must rejoice
At this warm tribute—remembering the miles
He humbly walked the countryside,
Healing and teaching as he talked
Of Love's divine beneficence.
Wherever someone reads, with heart imploring
Some gift or other of God's grace,
To him may be revealed the inspiration
To dare, on his own part, a rich outpouring
— Some fragrant sacrifice of spikenard hoarded —
Acknowledging the Christ.
