"Lo, I am with you alway"

RITA BERMAN

To-day , while reading in the book of Luke,
I came upon the story where 't is told
How Jesus, entering into Simon's house,
Found there a woman sick with fever sore;
How he stood over her, rebuking it,
So that she thereupon did straightway rise
And—oh, assuredly with eager love—
She ministered to them.

And as I pondered over this sweet tale,
Reliving in my heart that woman's joy,
And followed her about the little home
Where she performed the humble housewife's tasks
Of service for the gentle Master's weal,
There came the sudden question, What if now
A quiet knock were heard at your own door,
And rising up to answer you should see
Jesus awaiting there?

Glad tears suffused my eyes at the mere thought,
Humility that spoke, Lord, who am I
That thou should'st bless my threshold with thy grace?
Nathless, I ran to see the room was clear,
The linen white, the platter spotless too,
The food all pure, the children with clean hands;
Then turned to bid him come and sup with us.
Alas, bright vision of my hungry heart,
Fond, idle dream,—naught's there!

He is not here; nor can be. Centuries roll
Between that blessed presence and to-day,
Let longing bridge the wide gap how it may.
With hardened thought I said, It is not fair
That they should know him, and we walk alone.
Then in that moment tenderly a voice—
As if a winged angel with all speed
Had hastened to uplift my failing hope—
Spoke, and rebellion fled.
"Lo, I am with you alway." Thus I heard;
And comforted, instructed, I rose up
To set about the cleansing of my house
To make it meet for this e'er present Christ.
Woman of old in grateful ministry,
I need not envy them; what they did then,
I can do now. I'll wipe away the dust
Material hopes and fears have thickly spread;
The grime of sin from off the floor I'll wash,
So that my children—pure ideas—may there
Play undefiled by doubts of other days.
At windows made transparent by pure love
I'll place the flowers of fair expectancy;
I'll trim the lamp and fill it well with oil
(So shall my consecration wisdom feed).
There shall be quiet singing, laughter too,—
Music of happy thoughts that purely spring;
And travelers, footsore, tired, who ask to come
Within and share my fare, shall find it sweet
And satisfying to their starved sense.
This will I do and serve thee, Christ, revered.
Abide thou with me then.

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Ever Present Good

December 20, 1924

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