Or I shall smell the porridge burning, yes,
And run to stop it in my hastiness.
There's not ten minutes, Lord, in all the
day
I can be sure of peace in which to watch
and pray."

But all that night,
With calm insistent might,
That gentle Voice spake softly, lovingly --
"Keep tryst with Me!
You have devised a dozen different ways
Of getting easy meals on washing days;
You spend much anxious thought on
hopeless socks;
On moving ironmould from tiny frocks;
'Twas you who found
A way to make the sugar lumps go round;
You, who invented ways and means of
making
Nice spicy buns for tea, hot from the baking,
When margarine was short . . . and can-
not you
Who made the time to join the butter queue
Make time again for Me?
Yes, will you not, with all your daily
striving,
Use woman's wit in scheming and con-
triving
To keep that tryst with Me?"