  Not with her outward eyes, but with her mind, Her living soul, her faith,—for she was blind— Marie Depure, with simple, loving heart, Had seen the Christ, and chosen the good part. She never thought with Milton, in his pride, "Does God exact day labor, light denied?" But gave her willing hands as one who saw, Deftly to plait for use the yellow straw. With humble workers of her craft she wrought For daily bread, and Christ's great lesson taught, That love the life far more than meat regards, And body, more than raiment sweet with nards. For when the pastor, who, like John, had leaned Upon the Master's breast, spoke words that yeaned The pity of his heart for those that sit In heathen night, nor know Christ's torch is lit; Marie Depure, her soul winged like a dove Eager to bear the news of light and love, Gave of her humble toil more than they all,— Since love makes willing answer to Love's call. Amazed, the man of God to Marie said: "Your gift is great, a part I take instead;" But she, with sweet insistence, spake him, "Nay, I'm richer far than those who see the day. "These workers of the golden straw buy oil, When darkness falls, that they may see to toil; But I am blind, I need no oil for light,— I give this love-lit lamp for darker night." Marie Depure! A sweet and gracious beam Speed from thy burning lamp, a Christ-like gleam, To those who in the darkness sit, and some Who, without serving, pray, "Thy Kingdom Come!" |
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