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