The Verse-Book Of A Homely Woman | Page 5

and
bake.
But yet a small Voice whispered:?"For My sake?Keep tryst with Me!?There are so many minutes in a day,?So spare Me ten.?It shall be proven, then,?Ten minutes set apart can well repay?You shall accomplish more?If you will shut your door?For ten short minutes just to watch and
pray."
"Lord, if I do?Set ten apart for You"?(I dared, yes dared, to reason thus with
Him)?"The baker's sure to come;?Or Jane will call?To say some visitor is in the hall;?Or I shall smell the porridge burning, yes,?And run to stop it in my hastiness.?There's not ten minutes, Lord, in all the
day?I can be sure of peace in which to watch
and pray."
But all that night,?With calm insistent might,?That gentle Voice spake softly, lovingly --?"Keep tryst with Me!?You have devised a dozen different ways?Of getting easy meals on washing days;?You spend much anxious thought on
hopeless socks;?On moving ironmould from tiny frocks;?'Twas you who found?A way to make the sugar lumps go round;?You, who invented ways and means of
making?Nice spicy buns for tea, hot from the baking,?When margarine was short . . . and cannot
you?Who made the time to join the butter queue?Make time again for Me??Yes, will you not, with all your daily
striving,?Use woman's wit in scheming and contriving
To keep that tryst with Me?"
Like ice long bound?On powdered frosty ground,?My erring will all suddenly gave way.?The kind soft wind of His sweet pleading
blew,?And swiftly, silently, before I knew,?The warm love loosed and ran.?Life-giving floods began,?And so most lovingly I answered Him:?"Lord, yes, I will, and can.?I will keep tryst with Thee, Lord, come
what may!"
ENVOY.
It is a wondrous and surprising thing?How that ten minutes takes the piercing
sting?From vexing circumstance and poisonous
dart?Hurled by the enemy straight at my
heart.?So, to the woman tempest-tossed and
tried?By household cares, and hosts of things
beside,?With all my strength God bids me say
to you:?"Dear soul, do try the daily Interview!"
The Little House
One yestereve, in the waning light,?When the wind was still and the
gloaming bright,?There came a breath from a far countrie,?And the ghost of a Little House called
to me.
"Have you forgotten me?" "No!" I cried.?"Your hall was as narrow as this is wide,?Your roof was leaky, the rain came
through?Till a ceiling fell, on my new frock too!
"In your parlour flooring a loose board hid,?And wore the carpet, you know it did!?Your kitchen was small, and the shelves
were few,?While the fireplace smoked -- and you
know it's true!"
The little ghost sighed: "Do you quite
forget?My window boxes of mignonette??And the sunny room where you used to
sew?When a great hope came to you, long ago?
"Ah, me! How you used to watch the
door?Where a latch-key turned on the stroke
of four.?And you made the tea, and you poured
it out?From an old brown pot with a broken
spout
"Now, times have changed. And your
footman waits?With the silver urn, and the fluted plates.?But the little blind Love with the wings,
has flown,?Who used to sit by your warm hearthstone."
The little ghost paused. Then "Away!"
I said.?"Back to your place with the quiet dead.?Back to your place, lest my servants see,?That the ghost of a Little House calls
to me."
The House-Mother
Across the town the evening bell is
ringing;?Clear comes the call, through kitchen
windows winging!
Lord, knowing Thou art kind,?I heed Thy call to prayer.?I have a soul to save;?A heart which needs, I think, a double
share?Of sweetnesses which noble ladies crave.?Hope, faith and diligence, and patient
care,?With meekness, grace, and lowliness of
mind.?Lord, wilt Thou grant all these?To one who prays, but cannot sit at ease?
They do not know,?The passers-by, who go?Up to Thy house, with saintly faces set;?Who throng about Thy seat,?And sing Thy praises sweet,?Till vials full of odours cloud Thy feet;?They do not know . . .?And, if they knew, then would they greatly
care?That Thy tired handmaid washed the
children's hair;?Or, with red roughened hands, scoured
dishes well,?While through the window called the
evening bell??And that her seeking soul looks upward
yet,?THEY do not know . . . but THOU wilt
not forget
A Woman in Hospital
I know it all . . . I know.?For I am God. I am Jehovah, He?Who made you what you are; and I can
see?The tears that wet your pillow night by
night,?When nurse has lowered that too-brilliant
light;?When the talk ceases, and the ward grows
still,?And you have doffed your will:?I know the anguish and the helplessness.?I know the fears that toss you to and fro.?And how you wrestle, weariful,?With hosts of little strings that pull?About your heart, and tear it so.?I know.
Lord, do You know?I had no time to put clean curtains up;?No time to finish darning all the socks;?Nor sew clean frilling in the children's
frocks??And do You know about my Baby's cold??And how things are with my sweet threeyear
-old??Will Jane remember right?Their cough mixture at night??And will she ever think?To brush the kitchen flues, or scrub the
sink?
And then, there's John! Poor tired
lonely John!?No one will run to put his slippers on.?And not a soul but me?Knows just exactly how he likes his tea.?It