The Maid of Bethlehem

It was a maid of Bethlehem;— As fair as spring was she When first lifts up its fragile cup The rathe anemone. It was a man of Bethlehem;— As dark of heart was he As is night’s Stygian shadow cast Upon the lone Dead Sea. He fawned where’er she set her foot, He followed her like fate; And when she sealed his lips with scorn, He held a tryst with hate. And then, as venom through the veins, Through Bethlehem there ran A whispered malice in the air That spread from man to man. “And shall this living lie endure?” In rising rage, they said; “The purging fire shall work a cure Upon her sinful head!” It was the maid of Bethlehem, In all her stainless grace, They seized before the House of God Within the market-place. It was the man of Bethlehem Who led the throng elate That bore her out with mocking shout Beyond the city gate. Around her heaped they fagots high, And touched the pile with flame; “Behold!” they cried, “the wanton witch! She expiates her shame!” “O sinless One of Calvary,” Then did they hear her say, “Prove Thou my blameless innocence On this, Thy natal day!” Lo, as she spake, each fiery tongue Leaped on her foe of foes, The while from charred and smoking boughs Burst rose on crimson rose! It was the man of Bethlehem Who died in agony; It was the maid of Bethlehem Who went unharmed and free.