The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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VIII.

THE WIDOW WITH THE TWO MITES.

Here much and little shift and change,

With scale of need and time;

There more and less have meanings strange,

Which the world cannot rime.

Sickness may be more hale than health,

And service kingdom high;

Yea, poverty be bounty's wealth,

To give like God thereby.

Bring forth your riches; let them go,

Nor mourn the lost control;

For

if ye hoard them, surely so Their rust will reach your soul.

Cast in your coins, for God delights

When from wide hands they fall;

But

here is one who brings two mites, And thus gives more than all.

I think she did not hear the praise--

Went home content with need;

Walked in her old poor generous ways,

Nor knew her heavenly meed.

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