She chose His service. For the Lord of Love Had chosen her, and paid the awful price For her redemption; and had sought her out, And set her free, and clothed her gloriously, And put His royal ring upon her hand, And crowns of loving-kindness on her head. She chose it. Yet it seemed she could not yield The fuller measure other lives could bring; For He had given her a precious gift, A treasure and a charge to prize and keep, A tiny hand, a darling hand, that traced On her heart’s tablet words of golden love. And there was not much room for other lines, For time and thought were spent (and rightly spent, For He had given the charge), and hours and days Were concentrated on the one dear task. But He had need of her. Not one new gem 138 But many for His crown;—not one fair sheaf, But many, she should bring. And she should have A richer, happier harvest-home at last. Because more fruit, more glory and more praise Her life should yield to Him. And so He came, The Master came Himself, and gently took The little hand in His, and gave it room Among the angel-harpers. Jesus came And laid His own hand on the quivering heart, And made it very still, that He might write Invisible words of power—‘Free to serve!’ Then through the darkness and the chill He sent A heat-ray of His love, developing The mystic writing, till it glowed and shone And lit up all her life with radiance new,— The happy service of a yielded heart. With comfort that He never ceased to give (Because her need could never cease) she filled The empty chalices of other lives, And time and thought were thenceforth spent for Him Who loved her with His everlasting love. |