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| WITH joyful pride her heart is high: | |
| Her humble chambers hold | |
| The man prophetic destiny | |
| Long centuries hath foretold. | |
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| Poor, is he? Yes, and lowly born: | 5 |
| 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 | 10 |
| With honour and devotion meet | |
| For any king that were. | |
| |
| ’Tis all she can; she does her part, | |
| Profuse in sacrifice; | |
| Nor knows that in her unknown heart | 15 |
| A better offering lies. | |
| |
| But many crosses she must bear; | |
| Her plans are turned and bent; | |
| Do all she can, things will not wear | |
| The form of her intent. | 20 |
| |
| With idle hands, and drooping lid, | |
| See Mary sit at rest! | |
| Shameful it was her sister did | |
| No service for their guest. | |
| |
| But Martha one day Mary’s lot | 25 |
| Must share with hands and eyes, | |
| Must—all her household cares forgot— | |
| Sit down as idly wise. | |
| |
| Ere long they both in Jesus’ ear | |
| Shall make the self-same moan: | 30 |
| “Lord, if thou only hadst been here, | |
| My brother had not gone.” | |
| |
| Then once will Martha set her word, | |
| Yet once, to bar his ways, | |
| Crying, “By this he stinketh, Lord; | 35 |
| He hath been dead four days.” | |
| |
| When Lazarus drags his trammelled clay | |
| Forth with half-opened eyes, | |
| Her buried best will hear, obey, | |
| And with the dead man rise. | 40 |
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