p. 553 | THE BARLEY CAKES by Wm. N. Burr

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Jul 10, 1893

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 19, No. 35.

THE BARLEY CAKES.

By Wm. N. Burr

BY WM. N. BURR.

"Drudgery, drudgery all the day! The grassy-green mountains, the breeze-swept lakes, The fair, sweet flowers among the brakes, The birdies that flutter about the trees, The flocks on the hillsides—none of these Gladden my life. I must throw away My life's best days on the homely care That falls to the lot of the housewife. Bare As the rocks of Hermon the life of one Who from dawn of day to the setting sun Does nothing grander than sweep or bake In the ashes the little barley cake!"

"Drudgery, drudgery, . . . ah, to-day My lad goes into the desert to keep— (My shepherd boy brave)—his father's sheep! He must not know that my heart is faint, Or catch the gloom of my sad complaint. And shame to me that I've dared to lay Across my threshold this bit of rue, Forgetful that palm trees about me grew, Fruitful and fair as the sixty and ten That shaded the waters of Elim. When I think of my boy 'tis with joy I make For his lunch in the desert the barley cake."

The mother toiled on in her home that day. But the Master came to the desert place, And the multitude followed him, quick to trace The steps of the miracle worker, who Dropped blessings into their lives, like dew That brightened the flowers beside the way. A multitude hungry—and whence the bread With which these thousands must now be fed? O mother, bound close to a lowly task, What "grander work" could your fond heart ask? The Master receives from your boy, and breaks With blessing, your five little barley cakes! —Advance.