London Lyrics — The Widow’s Mite

ST MARK'S GOSPEL, chap.

xii.

verses 42, 43, 44 The widow had but only one, A puny and decrepid son;

But day and night, Though fretful oft, and weak, and small, A loving child, he was her all-- The widow's mite.

The widow's might--yes!

so sustain'd She battled onward, nor complain'd Though friends were fewer: And, cheerful at her daily care, A little crutch upon the stair Was music to her.

I saw her then, and now I see, Though cheerful and resign'd, still she Has sorrow'd much: She has--HE gave it tenderly-- Much faith--and carefully laid by A little crutch.

ST GEORGE'S, HANOVER SQUARE