Poem September 11, 1937 Issue

Goodly Heritage

FRANCES HILDA SHERLOCK

I came to Love, to beg a daily rate:
A little meal, ah, just a little oil;
And planned to give, from early morn till late,
Full recompense, with uncomplaining toil.

But, oh, when I beheld Love's radiant face,
My pleas were silenced e'er I uttered one;
"Dear, precious child, think'st thou I lack a place
At my rich table, for a famished son?

All that I have is thine, my son," Love said,
"No limit set on infinite supply;
Thy Master prayed, Give us our daily bread;
His the accepting —not beseeching —cry."

First like a trespasser on Love I stood,
To plead like Lazarus for but a crumb;
But now I claim my heritage of good,
And singing, as a rightful heir, I come.

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