The Poetical Works of George MacDonald

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XIV.

MARTHA.

With joyful pride her heart is high:

Her humble house doth hold

The

man her nation's prophecy Long ages hath foretold!

Poor, is he? Yes, and lowly born:

Her woman-soul is proud

To know and hail the coming morn

Before the eyeless crowd.

At her poor table will he eat?

He shall be served there

With honour and devotion meet

For any king that were!

'Tis all she can; she does her part,

Profuse in sacrifice;

Nor

dreams that in her unknown heart A better offering lies.

But

many crosses she must bear; Her plans are turned and bent;

Do what she can, things will not wear

The form of her intent.

With idle hands and drooping lid,

See Mary sit at rest!

Shameful it was her sister did

No service for their guest!

Dear Martha, one day Mary's lot

Must rule thy hands and eyes;

Thou, all thy household cares forgot,

Must sit as idly wise!

But

once more first she set her word To bar her master's ways,

Crying, "By this he stinketh, Lord,

He hath been dead four days!"

Her

housewife-soul her brother dear Would fetter where he lies!

Ah,

did her buried best then hear, And with the dead man rise?

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