Unawares

by Emma A. Lent

They said, “The Master is coming

To honor the town to-day,

And none can tell at what house or home

The Master will choose to stay.”

And I thought while my heart beat wildly,

What if He should come to mine,

How would I strive to entertain

And honor the Guest Divine!

And straight I turned to toiling

To make my house more neat;

I swept, and polished, and garnished.

And decked it with blossoms sweet.

I was troubled for fear the Master

Might come ere my work was done,

And I hasted and worked the faster,

And watched the hurrying sun.

But right in the midst of my duties

A woman came to my door;

She had come to tell me her sorrows

And my comfort and aid to implore,

And I said, “I cannot listen

Nor help you any, to-day;

I have greater things to attend to.”

And the pleader turned away.

But soon there came another—

A cripple, thin, pale and gray—

And said, “Oh, let me stop and rest

A while in your house, I pray!

I have traveled far since morning,

I am hungry, and faint, and weak;

My heart is full of misery,

And comfort and help I seek.”

And I cried, “I am grieved and sorry,

But I cannot help you to-day.

I look for a great and noble Guest,”

And the cripple went away;

And the day wore onward swiftly—

And my task was nearly done,

And a prayer was ever in my heart

That the Master to me might come.

And I thought I would spring to meet Him,

And serve him with utmost care,

When a little child stood by me

With a face so sweet and fair—

Sweet, but with marks of teardrops—

And his clothes were tattered and old;

A finger was bruised and bleeding,

And his little bare feet were cold.

And I said, “I’m sorry for you—

You are sorely in need of care;

But I cannot stop to give it,

You must hasten otherwhere.”

And at the words, a shadow

Swept o’er his blue-veined brow,—

“Someone will feed and clothe you, dear,

But I am too busy now.”

At last the day was ended,

And my toil was over and done;

My house was swept and garnished—

And I watched in the dark—alone.

Watched—but no footfall sounded,

No one paused at my gate;

No one entered my cottage door;

I could only pray—and wait.

I waited till night had deepened,

And the Master had not come.

“He has entered some other door,” I said,

“And gladdened some other home!”

My labor had been for nothing,

And I bowed my head and I wept,

My heart was sore with longing—

Yet—in spite of it all—I slept.

Then the Master stood before me,

And his face was grave and fair;

“Three times to-day I came to your door,

And craved your pity and care;

Three times you sent me onward,

Unhelped and uncomforted;

And the blessing you might have had was lost,

And your chance to serve has fled.”

“O Lord, dear Lord, forgive me!

How could I know it was Thee?”

My very soul was shamed and bowed

In the depths of humility.

And He said, “The sin is pardoned,

But the blessing is lost to thee;

For comforting not the least of Mine

You have failed to comfort Me.”