Poem by Frederick Locker-Lampson

The Widow’s Mite

St Mark’s Gospel, chap. xii. verses 42, 43, 44

The widow had but only one,
A puny and decrepid son;
   But day and night,
Though fretful oft, and weak, and small,
A loving child, he was her all—
   The widow’s mite.

The widow’s might—yes! so sustain’d
She battled onward, nor complain’d
   Though friends were fewer:
And, cheerful at her daily care,
A little crutch upon the stair
   Was music to her.

I saw her then, and now I see,
Though cheerful and resign’d, still she
   Has sorrow’d much:
She has—HE gave it tenderly—
Much faith—and carefully laid by
   A little crutch.

1. My Life Is A—
2. My Firstborn
3. The Old Clerk
4. St George’s, Hanover Square
5. The Pilgrims of Pall Mall

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