| |
| “GRANT, Lord, her prayer, and let her go; | |
| She crieth after us.” | |
| Nay, to the dogs ye cast it so; | |
| Serve not a woman thus. | |
| |
| Their pride by condescension fed, | 5 |
| He speaks with truer tongue: | |
| “It is not meet the children’s bread | |
| Should to the dogs be flung.” | |
| |
| The words, because they were so sore, | |
| His tender voice did rue; | 10 |
| His face a gentle sadness wore, | |
| And showed he suffered too. | |
| |
| He makes her share the hurt of good, | |
| Takes what she would have lent, | |
| That those proud men their evil mood | 15 |
| May see, and so repent; | |
| |
| And that the hidden faith in her | |
| May burst in soaring flame, | |
| From childhood deeper, holier, | |
| If birthright not the same. | 20 |
| |
| “Truth, Lord; and yet the dogs that crawl | |
| Under the table, eat | |
| The crumbs the little ones let fall— | |
| And that is not unmeet.” | |
| |
| Ill names, of proud religion born— | 25 |
| She’ll wear the worst that comes; | |
| Will clothe her, patient, in their scorn, | |
| To share the healing crumbs. | |
| |
| The cry rebuff could not abate | |
| Was not like water spilt: | 30 |
| “O woman, but thy faith is great! | |
| Be it even as thou wilt.” | |
| |
| Oh, happy she who will not tire, | |
| But, baffled, prayeth still! | |
| What if he grant her heart’s desire | 35 |
| In fulness of her will! | |
| |
