The Borrowed Axe

The prophets sons, in time of old, Though to appearance poor; Were rich without possessing gold, And honoured, though obscure. In peace their daily bread they eat, By honest labor earned; While daily at Elisha's feet, They grace and wisdom learned. The prophet's presence cheered their toil, They watched the words he spoke; Whether they turned the furrowed soil, Or felled the spreading oak. Once as they listened to his theme, Their conference was stopped; For one beneath the yielding stream, A borrowed axe had dropped. Alas! it was not mine, he said, How shall I make it good? Elisha heard, and when he prayed, The iron swam like wood. If God, in such a small affair, A miracle performs; It shows his condescending care Of poor unworthy worms. Though kings and nations in his view Are but as motes and dust; His eye and ear are fixed on you, Who in his mercy trust. Not one concern of ours is small, If we belong to him; To teach us this, the Lord of all, Once made the iron swim.