Poem by George MacDonald

The Gospel Women. 8. The Widow with the Two Mites

  Here much and little shift and change,
      With scale of need and time;
  There more and less have meanings strange,
      Which the world cannot rime.

  Sickness may be more hale than health,
      And service kingdom high;
  Yea, poverty be bounty's wealth,
      To give like God thereby.

  Bring forth your riches; let them go,
      Nor mourn the lost control;
  For if ye hoard them, surely so
      Their rust will reach your soul.

  Cast in your coins, for God delights
      When from wide hands they fall;
  But here is one who brings two mites,
      And thus gives more than all.

  I think she did not hear the praise--
      Went home content with need;
  Walked in her old poor generous ways,
      Nor knew her heavenly meed.

1. To S. F. S.
2. The Gospel Women. 2. The Woman that lifted up her Voice
3. The Gospel Women. 6. The Woman whom Satan had bound
4. The Gospel Women. 15. Mary
5. The Gospel Women. 4. The Syrophenician Woman

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