George MacDonald (1824–1905)

IF I might guess, then guess I would

That, mid the gather’d folk,

This gentle Dorcas one day stood,

And heard when Jesus spoke.

She saw the woven seamless coat—

Half envious, for his sake:

‘Oh, happy hands,’ she said, ‘that wrought

The honoured thing to make!’

Her eyes with longing tears grow dim:

She never can come nigh

To work one service poor for him

For whom she glad would die!

But hark, he speaks! O, precious word!

And she has heard indeed!

‘When did we see thee naked, Lord,

And clothed thee in thy need?

‘The King shall answer, Inasmuch

As to my brethren ye

Did it—even to the least of such—

Ye did it unto me.’

Home, home she went, and plied the loom,

And Jesus’ poor array’d.

She died—they wept about the room,

And showed the coats she made.