Poem February 15, 1947 Issue

Testimony

MAX DUNAWAY

It is so little, Lord, the widow's mite,
This faltering word of thanks that I would speak.
So faint it seems, some may not hear
My gratitude above my fear,
In trembling voice, uneloquent and weak.

Yet of the widow did the Master say
That she had given more than all the rest.
And he did not disdain the heart
That ventured to bestow its part
And, in a humble way, its gratitude expressed.

Then let my thanks to God be testified;
If He accept it, then I ask no more.
And hearts that yearn as mine may yearn
For messages of Love will learn
That faithful lives can worship and adore.