W. Garrett Horder, comp. The Poets’ Bible: New Testament. 1895.
Martha
George MacDonald (18241905)W
Her humble chambers hold
The man prophetic destiny
Long centuries hath foretold.
Her woman-soul is proud
To know and hail the coming morn
Before the eyeless crowd.
He shall be served there
With honour and devotion meet
For any king that were.
Profuse in sacrifice;
Nor knows that in her unknown heart
A better offering lies.
Her plans are turned and bent;
Do all she can, things will not wear
The form of her intent.
See Mary sit at rest!
Shameful it was her sister did
No service for their guest.
Must share with hands and eyes,
Must—all her household cares forgot—
Sit down as idly wise.
Shall make the self-same moan:
“Lord, if thou only hadst been here,
My brother had not gone.”
Yet once, to bar his ways,
Crying, “By this he stinketh, Lord;
He hath been dead four days.”
Forth with half-opened eyes,
Her buried best will hear, obey,
And with the dead man rise.