THE EMPIRE OF LOVE
THE WOMAN WHO WAITED
She wrought warm garments for the poor,
From morn to eve unwearied she
Went with her gifts from door to door;
And when the night drew silently
Along the streets, and she came home,
She prayed, "O Lord, when wilt Thou come?"
She was but loving, she could please
With no rare art of speech or song.
The art she knew was how to ease
The sick man's pain, the weak man's wrong;
And every night as she came home
She said, "O Lord, when wilt Thou come?"
The truths men praised she deemed untrue,
The light they hailed to her was dim,
But that the Christ was kind she knew,
She knew that she must be like Him.
Like Mary, in her darkened home,
She sighed, "O Christ, that thou would'st come!"
Her hair grew white, her house was bare,
Yet still her step was firm and glad,
The feet of Hunger climbed the stair,
For she had given all she had.
She died within her empty home
Still seeking One who did not come.
She rose from out the wave of death,
A Stranger stood beside the shore;
The robe she wrought with failing breath,
And staining tears, the Stranger wore.
He drew her tired heart with His smile,
"Lo, I was with thee all the while."