HEART PROMPTINGS by F.

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jan 30, 1900

HEART PROMPTINGS.

By F.

I WANTED to send her some flowers, For ’t is just two years to-day Since the little ones were taken From my neighbor over the way. But John said, “What good would it do her?” “And why bring up the past?” He was sure he “wouldn’t want flowers;” So I gave it up at last.

Men often think us foolish To do these “useless” things; But if they call us “angels,” They should not clip our wings. There is something that tells us to do them— A feeling we can’t resist; Perhaps if we gave up doing, There’d be something lost and missed.

And I can’t help feeling the Master Still speaks for us now, as when He defended those simple women Before the wiser men; As when, all worn and weary With hours in field and street, That woman’s tears provided The water for his feet.

All saw that he was slighted; Yet the men who loved him, too, Might have whispered, “Useless, foolish,” Had they known what she would do. But that woman’s sudden impulse, With love’s unerring aim, Went straight to the heart of Jesus, And her deed to blessed fame.

And again, when his soul was heavy With the burden of unshared woe, Wounded by those who loved him, As well as by open foe, One heart—a woman’s—answered With an act that met his need, And heaven and earth still witness To the fragrance of her deed.

But by some of his own disciples It was judged in angry haste: “The poor might have had the money; To what purpose all this waste?” “She hath done what she could,” he answered, “Hath wrought a good work on me; And this she hath done, in my gospel Her endless memorial shall be.”

And then, although sadly “useless,” One voice—a woman’s—rose For “that just Man”—forsaken, Before his bitter foes.

And all the Way of Sorrows Love’s fearless protest came From that noble band of women, To whom he spoke by name.

Around the cross of their Master, They stood to the very end. “You can do no good,” was whispered, Doubtless, by many a friend; Yet from his cross he saw them, And Mary, standing there, Heard his own voice commit her To John’s protecting care.

“Nay, do not go to the garden,” Their friends, in kindness, said: But the women followed, weeping, And saw where he was laid. “It was useless to gather spices— What good will the ointment be? The tomb is sealed and guarded, There is only the stone to see.”

But the women’s strong devotion Impelled their eager feet To haste, in the early dawning, With spices and ointment sweet. Had they stayed and checked their feelings, Ah, think of the untold loss! For they were the first to see him Who died for them on the cross.

Love speaks a simple language, But speak it must and will, And our Lord doth set his sanction On its tender promptings still. He has gone himself to heaven, But he lives in his own to-day— I think I will send those flowers To my neighbor over the way. — F., in Parish Visitor.