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| SHE sitteth at the Master’s feet | |
| In motionless employ; | |
| Her ears, her heart, her soul complete | |
| Drinks in the tide of Joy. | |
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| Ah! who but her the glory knows | 5 |
| Of life, pure, high, intense, | |
| Whose holy calm breeds awful shows | |
| Beyond the realm of sense! | |
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| In her still ear, his thoughts of grace | |
| Incarnate are in voice; | 10 |
| Her thoughts, the people of the place, | |
| Receive them, and rejoice. | |
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| Her eyes, with heavenly reason bright, | |
| Are on the ground cast low; | |
| It is his words of truth and light | 15 |
| That sets them shining so. | |
| |
| But see! a face is at the door | |
| Whose eyes are not at rest; | |
| A voice breaks in on wisest lore | |
| With petulant request. | 20 |
| |
| “Lord,” Martha says, “dost thou not care | |
| She lets me serve alone? | |
| Tell her to come and take her share.” | |
| Still Mary’s eyes shine on. | |
| |
| Calmly she lifts a questioning glance | 25 |
| To him who calmly heard; | |
| The merest sign, she’ll rise at once, | |
| Nor wait the uttered word. | |
| |
| The other, standing by the door, | |
| Waits too what he will say. | 30 |
| His “Martha, Martha,” with it bore | |
| A sense of coming nay. | |
| |
| Gently her troubled heart he chid; | |
| Rebuked its needless care; | |
| Methinks her face she turned and hid, | 35 |
| With shame that bordered prayer. | |
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| What needful thing is Mary’s choice, | |
| Nor shall be taken away? | |
| There is but one—’tis Jesus’ voice; | |
| And listening she shall stay. | 40 |
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| Oh, joy to every doubting heart, | |
| Doing the thing it would, | |
| When he, the holy, takes its part, | |
| And calls its choice the good! | |
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