The Verse-Book of a Homely Woman

The Daily Interview

     Such a sensation Sunday's preacher
          made.
     "Christian!" he cried, "what is your stock-
          in-trade?
     Alas! Too often nil. No time to pray;
     No interview with Christ from day to day,
     A hurried prayer, maybe, just gabbled
          through;
     A random text—for any one will do."
     Then gently, lovingly, with look intense,
     He leaned towards us—
     "Is this common sense?
     No person in his rightful mind will try
     To run his business so, lest by-and-by
     The thing collapses, smirching his good
          name,
     And he, insolvent, face the world with
     shame."

     I heard it all; and something inly said
     That all was true. The daily toil and press
     Had crowded out my hopes of holiness.
     Still, my old self rose, reasoning:
     How can you,
     With strenuous work to do—
     Real slogging work—say, how can you
          keep pace
     With leisured folks? Why, you could
          grow in grace
     If you had time . . . the daily Interview
     Was never meant for those who wash and
          bake.

     But yet a small Voice whispered:
     "For My sake
     Keep tryst with Me!
     There are so many minutes in a day,
     So spare Me ten.
     It shall be proven, then,
     Ten minutes set apart can well repay
     You shall accomplish more
     If you will shut your door
     For ten short minutes just to watch and
          pray."

     "Lord, if I do
     Set ten apart for You"
     (I dared, yes dared, to reason thus with
          Him)
     "The baker's sure to come;
     Or Jane will call
     To say some visitor is in the hall;
     Or I shall smell the porridge burning, yes,
     And run to stop it in my hastiness.
     There's not ten minutes, Lord, in all the
          day
     I can be sure of peace in which to watch
          and pray."

     But all that night,
     With calm insistent might,
     That gentle Voice spake softly, lovingly—
     "Keep tryst with Me!
     You have devised a dozen different ways
     Of getting easy meals on washing days;
     You spend much anxious thought on
          hopeless socks;
     On moving ironmould from tiny frocks;
     'Twas you who found
     A way to make the sugar lumps go round;
     You, who invented ways and means of
          making
     Nice spicy buns for tea, hot from the baking,
     When margarine was short . . . and can-
          not you
     Who made the time to join the butter queue
     Make time again for Me?
     Yes, will you not, with all your daily
          striving,
     Use woman's wit in scheming and con-
          triving
     To keep that tryst with Me?"

     Like ice long bound
     On powdered frosty ground,
     My erring will all suddenly gave way.
     The kind soft wind of His sweet pleading
          blew,
     And swiftly, silently, before I knew,
     The warm love loosed and ran.
     Life-giving floods began,
     And so most lovingly I answered Him:
     "Lord, yes, I will, and can.
     I will keep tryst with Thee, Lord, come
          what may!"

     ENVOY.

       It is a wondrous and surprising thing
       How that ten minutes takes the piercing
          sting
       From vexing circumstance and poison-
          ous dart
       Hurled by the enemy straight at my
          heart.
       So, to the woman tempest-tossed and
          tried
       By household cares, and hosts of things
          beside,
       With all my strength God bids me say
          to you:
       "Dear soul, do try the daily Interview!"