He flaunted recklessly along,
With hollow laugh and mocking song;
In tawdry garb and painted mirth,
The sorrowfulest thing on earth.
Time runs apace: the fleeting years
Left but her misery and her tears.
The very brothel-door was barred
Against a wretch so crook'd and marred.
She knocked at every gate in vain,
The cast-out harlot black with stain—
At all save one,—when this she tried,—
'T was His, the High Priest crucified.
He heard her tears, flung wide His door
And said, "Come in, and sin no more."