This time, dear freens, a Gentile lass,
Wha’s daughter wuz nae weel,
Come frae fair Canaa’s fertile coast,
Which shud gar us al’ feel.

It seems that Satan at this time
Had got intae that mood
O’ showin’ in wha’s heart he dwelt
Bae speakin’ gien’ in lood.

A doot he is mair sleekit noo,
An’ keeps wee loot o’ sicht,
Except whun he can act juist like
An angel o’ pure licht.

Hooiver, she came strecht till Christ,
An’ telt Him very plain
That Satan had possession o’
Hirain sweet darlin’ waen.

But Jesus seem’d tae tak nae heed,
Nur did He speak ava;
An’ had this wummin’s faith been weak,
She micht hae run awa.

Instead, she worship’d Him in truth,
Sayin, “O, Lord, help me.”
She realized withoot His aid
Hir daughter sure wud dee.

He telt them then He wuz nae sent
But juist tae save the Jews;
Which wus tae this poor Gentile lass
A crushin’ bit o’ news.

He then compared hir till a doug,
Which micht hae smote hirdum’;
But she replied that dougs could eat
The fallin’ bits o’ crum’.

Christ said, “Wummin, great is thy faith,”
An’ granted hir requist;
Hir daughter wuz heal’d frae that ‘oor,
An’ she hirsel’ got blist.

Sisters, the lesson is gae plain,
A need nae say ought mair;
So may ye al’ possess in power
Such like prevailin’ prayer.

A.L.F. 14th October 1916

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