“THE DISCIPLE IS NOT GREATER THAN HIS MASTER.”
By Mary E. Wilcox
Master and Lord, my lot on earth is better far than thine,
And shall I at its lowliness ungratefully repine?
Shall I gaze, with vainly longing eyes, on fame’s unscaled ascent,
And cloud the mornings of my days with sullen discontent?
No; by thy first, rude manger-couch, and by thy humble birth,
I bless thee for my station, mid the lowly ones of earth! A life of stormy suffering—a dreary life was thine—
And shall I, at my lesser griefs, despairingly repine?
No; by the tears which thou so oft in sorrowing love didst shed;
By the cold ground where thou didst kneel in agony and dread;
By all the sorrows borne by thee throughout thy earthly years,
I thank thee for my sufferings, I bless thee for my tears! O meek and gentle Son of God! a life of toil was thine,
And shall I, at my lighter tasks, impatiently repine?
Oh, shall I faint beneath the care and burden of my lot,
When thou didst labor to redeem a world that loved thee not?
Because no sheltering roof is mine, shall faith give place to dread?
Thou hadst not where, O Son of man, to lay thy weary head! Exalted Son! thou reignest now beside the Father, God—
While yet a rougher path than mine thy own dear feet have trod.
Then softly say unto my heart, as to the sea, “Be still!”
And as the waves of old were hushed, hush my tempestuous will,
And let me deem no toil too hard to bear for love of thee,
Since thou hast borne a weary life and fearful death for me.
—MARY E. WILCOX, in Ladies Repository.