Walking with Peter, Christ his footsteps set
On the lake shore, hard by Gennesaret,
At the hour when noontide's burning rays down pour.
When they beheld at a mean cabin's door,
A fisher's widow in her mourning clad,
Who, on the threshold seated, silent, sad,
The tear that wet them kept her lids within,
Her child to cradle and her flax to spin;
Near by, behind the fig-trees' leafy screen,
The Master and His friend could see, unseen.
An old man ready for his earthly bed,
A beggar with a jar upon his head,
Came by, and to the mourning spinner there
Said, "Woman, I this vase of milk should bear
Unto a dweller in the hamlet near;
But I am weak and bent with many a year;
More than a thousand paces yet to go
Remain, and, without help, I surely know
I cannot end my task and earn its fee."
The woman rose, and not a word said she,
Without a pause her distaff laid aside,
And left the cradle where the orphan cried,
Took up the jar, and with the beggar went.
"Master, 'tis well to be benevolent,"
Said Peter, "but small sense that woman showed,
In leaving thus her child and her abode
For the chance-comer that first sought her out;
The beggar some one would have found, no doubt,
To ease him of his load upon the way."
The Lord made answer unto Peter, "Nay,
Thy Father, when the poor assists the poorer,
Will keep her cot, and her reward assure her.
She went at once, and wisely did in that."
And Jesus, having finished speaking, sat
Down on a bench was in the humble place,
And with His blest hands for a moment's space,
He touched the distaff, rocked the little one.
Rose, signed to Peter, and they gat them gone.
When she to whom the Lord had given this proof
Of good-will came back to her humble roof,
She found, nor knew what Friend the deed had done,
The baby sleeping and the flax all spun!
