There is my sister sitting the day long Close to His side, serene and free from care, Helping me not; and surely it is wrong To leave to me the task that she should share. Master, rebuke her, just and true Thou art— What do I hear? “She hath the better part.”
If all chose thus then all would go unfed— Souls hunger, yes! but bodies have their need. Some one must grind and mix the daily bread, Some one wake early that the rest may feed, Some one bear burdens, face the summer sun— But must I always, always be the one?
“Cumbered with serving,” thus the Master spake; But ’twas to serve Him that I worked so hard (And I would serve the year long for His sake). I dare not take the rest which is reward Lest He should suffer while I stay my hand. How hard it is, how hard to understand!
What does a voice say? “He whose power divine Could feed the thousands on the mountain side Needeth no fretting, puny aid like thine. One thing is needful, trust him to provide; The Heavenly Chance comes once nor tarries long”— Master, forgive me, teach me, I was wrong!
IN the quaint Norman city, far apart, A width of humming distance set between, They rest who once lived closely heart to heart, William the conquering Duke and his fair Queen.
Too near of kin to wed, the Church averred, And barred the way which joy was fain to tread; But hearts spoke louder than the priestly word, And youth and love o’erleaped the barrier dread.
No will of wax had England’s future King; With iron hand he brushed the curse aside, As ’twere a slight and disregarded thing, And asking leave of no man, claimed his bride.
And they were happy, spite of ban and blame, Rich in renown, estate, in valiant deed; And the sweet Duchess at her broidery frame Wrought her lord’s victories for all men to read.
But as the years of wedlock ebbed and flowed, And still the Church averted her stern face, The royal pair grew weary of the load Of unrepented sin and long disgrace,
And bought a peace from late relenting Rome. Two stately abbeys built they, and endowed, With carven pinnacle and tower and dome, And soaring spire and bell-chimes pealing loud.
Within the crypt of one they buried her, True wife and queen, when her time came to die; And when strong death conquered the Conqueror, He slept beneath the other’s altar high.