To wash from off her feet the clinging sand,
And tell the tired boy of that bright land
Where, this long journey past, they longed to dwell,
When lo! the Lord, who many mansions had,
Drew near and looked upon the suffering twain,
Then pitying, spake, “Give me the little lad;
In strength renewed, and glorious beauty clad,
I’ll bring him with me when I come again.”
Did she make answer selfishly and wrong—
“Nay, but the woes I feel he too must share!”