W. Garrett Horder, comp. The Poets’ Bible: New Testament. 1895.
Mary
George MacDonald (18241905)S
In motionless employ;
Her ears, her heart, her soul complete
Drinks in the tide of Joy.
Of life, pure, high, intense,
Whose holy calm breeds awful shows
Beyond the realm of sense!
Incarnate are in voice;
Her thoughts, the people of the place,
Receive them, and rejoice.
Are on the ground cast low;
It is his words of truth and light
That sets them shining so.
Whose eyes are not at rest;
A voice breaks in on wisest lore
With petulant request.
She lets me serve alone?
Tell her to come and take her share.”
Still Mary’s eyes shine on.
To him who calmly heard;
The merest sign, she’ll rise at once,
Nor wait the uttered word.
Waits too what he will say.
His “Martha, Martha,” with it bore
A sense of coming nay.
Rebuked its needless care;
Methinks her face she turned and hid,
With shame that bordered prayer.
Nor shall be taken away?
There is but one—’tis Jesus’ voice;
And listening she shall stay.
Doing the thing it would,
When he, the holy, takes its part,
And calls its choice the good!