HERE @3much@1 and @3little@1 shift and change, With scale of need and time; There @3more@1 and @3less@1 have meanings strange, Which the world cannot rime. Sickness may be more hale than health, And service kingdom high; Yea, poverty be bounty's wealth, To give like God thereby. Bring forth your riches; let them go, Nor mourn the lost control; For if ye hoard them, surely so Their rust will reach your soul. Cast in your coins, for God delights When from wide hands they fall; But here is one who brings two mites, And thus gives more than all. I think she did not hear the praise— Went home content with need; Walked in her old poor generous ways, Nor knew her heavenly meed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BALLAD OF THE FRENCH FLEET; OCTOBER, 1746 by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW AFTER THE WINTER by CLAUDE MCKAY A HYMN TO CONTENTMENT by THOMAS PARNELL TO HELEN (1) by EDGAR ALLAN POE A CHRISTMAS FOLK-SONG by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE |