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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.
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