Early light in the temple,

Dust beneath their feet,

A lesson stopped mid-sentence

When accusation reached the seat.

They placed her in the middle,

A life reduced to charge.

"Master, Moses named the sentence;

What sayest thou beneath the law?"

Their hands already knew the stones,

Their question hid a snare.

They did not come for righteousness;

They came to catch him there.

He stooped.

A finger moved through dust.

No answer fed their fury.

No word rewarded blood.

They pressed him for a verdict,

So he rose before the ring:

"Let the one among you without sin

Be first to cast the stone at her."

Then silence took the temple,

And he bent down once again;

The law they carried outward

Turned its mirror back on them.

One stone did not fall.

One voice did not condemn.

From eldest down to youngest,

Conscience emptied them.

One stone did not fall.

The circle lost its claim.

Mercy did not call sin harmless;

Mercy called her out by name.

Footsteps left the pavement,

One by one, the oldest first.

Hands that came prepared for judgment

Opened underneath the word.

At last the crowded center

Held only two in view:

The woman and the one whose heart

No hidden motive could undo.

"Woman, where are those accusers?

Hath no man condemned thee?"

"No man, Lord," the answer came

Where death had meant to be.

No bargain bought the morning,

No denial changed the wrong;

But mercy stood between her

And the sentence of the stone.

Neither did he condemn her,

Yet he did not bless the chain.

"Go," became the doorway;

"Sin no more," the road away.

Neither did he condemn her;

The stones remained unused.

Grace refused the mob's destruction

And refused the life of sin.

The temple lesson started again.

She walked out alive.