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قراءة كتاب The Verse-Book of a Homely Woman
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
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
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 three-
year-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 rends my heart to think I cannot go
And minister to him. . . .
I know. I know.
Then, there are other things,
Dear Lord . . . more little strings
That pull my heart. Now Baby feels her
feet
She loves to run outside into the street
And Jane's hands are so full, she'll never
see. . . .
And I'm quite sure the clean clothes won't
be aired—
At least, not properly.
And, oh, I can't, I really can't be spared—
My little house calls so!
I know.
And I am waiting here to help and bless.
Lay down your head. Lay down your hope-
lessness
And let Me speak.
You are so weary, child, you are so weak.
But let us reason out
The darkness and the doubt;
This torturing fear that tosses you about.
I hold the universe. I