Oh, great St. Paul on Mount Caburn, Promise by Him you sought to slay That your fierce, fiery sword shall turn Both east and west and every way To guard the sunrise road that swings Past Glynde and Wick and Stonery, Because it is the road of kings, Who bring their glory from the sea. They bring their glory to our feast, As to the New Jerusalem; They are the Wise Kings of the East, Who journeyed once to Bethlehem; And through our streets they’ll ride in state, From Brooks to Priory, up and down, And praise the Saints who guard our Gate— The holy Gate of Lewes Town. ST. MARY MAGDALENE Mary Magdalene has looked out of her window, High in her cottage at Horeham Road; From her high window has Mary looked down, And seen all the doings and sights of the town: The boys look up as they pass her abode— The boys look up, but the girls look down. Mary Magdalene has caught sight of the Preacher— The Preacher Who’s come from the town in the west; She hears Him preaching out there on the Green: His words have troubled her heart—she has seen His face, and the sobs are all thick in her breast, And her tears are the saltest that ever were seen. From Horeham Road to Boreham Street And High Horse Bridge where the waters meet— East or west, was there ever seen Such a preaching, such a teaching for Mary Magdalene? A boy calls up to her there at the window: “Come down, my sweet, for the night is here, And the stars are dim in the mists above, And the darkening field is the place for love— Come down, my lovely, come down, my dear, And show me beauty and give me love.” But Mary Magdalene still stands at the window, And the dusk is white on her tear-stained face, For the Preacher has broken her heart, and it turns To the Word that freezes, the Word that burns, The Word that is Flesh in the market-place, Where the Preacher’s voice through the silence burns. From Horeham Road to Boreham Street And High Horse Bridge where the waters meet— East or west, was there ever seen Such a turning, such a burning for Mary Magdalene? Mary Magdalene has gone down to the Preacher— The strange Young Man from the western town: With silk she is shining, with scent she is sweet, Her eyes are like water, like flowers are her feet, And when she has come to the Green she falls down Before the Young Preacher and kisses His feet.