Inchfawn, Fay, 1880- . The verse-book of a homely woman
Electronic Text Center, University of Virginia Library

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The Daily Interview



SUCH a sensation Sundays preacher
made.
"Christian!" he cried, "what is your stock-
in-trade?
Alas! Too often nil. No time to pray;
No interview with Christ from day to day,
A hurried prayer, maybe, just gabbled
through;
A random text -- for any one will do."
Then gently, lovingly, with look intense,
He leaned towards us --
"Is this common sense?
No person in his rightful mind will try
To run his business so, lest by-and-by
The thing collapses, smirching his good
name,
And he, insolvent, face the world with
shame."


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I heard it all; and something inly said
That all was true. The daily toil and press
Had crowded out my hopes of holiness.
Still, my old self rose, reasoning:
How can you,
With strenuous work to do --
Real slogging work -- say, how can you
keep pace
With leisured folks? Why, you could
grow in grace
If you had time . . . the daily Interview
Was never meant for those who wash and
bake.

But yet a small Voice whispered:
"For My sake
Keep tryst with Me!
There are so many minutes in a day,
So spare Me ten.
It shall be proven, then,
Ten minutes set apart can well repay
You shall accomplish more
If you will shut your door
For ten short minutes just to watch and
pray."


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"Lord, if I do
Set ten apart for You"
(I dared, yes dared, to reason thus with
Him)
"The baker's sure to come;
Or Jane will call
To say some visitor is in the hall;
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;


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You, who invented ways and means of
making
Nice spicy buns for tea, hot from the baking,
When margarine was short . . . and cannot
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 contriving
To keep that tryst with Me?"

Like ice long bound
On powdered frosty ground,
My erring will all suddenly gave way.
The kind soft wind of His sweet pleading
blew,
And swiftly, silently, before I knew,
The warm love loosed and ran.
Life-giving floods began,
And so most lovingly I answered Him:
"Lord, yes, I will, and can.
I will keep tryst with Thee, Lord, come
what may!"


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ENVOY.

It is a wondrous and surprising thing
How that ten minutes takes the piercing
sting
From vexing circumstance and poisonous
dart
Hurled by the enemy straight at my
heart.
So, to the woman tempest-tossed and
tried
By household cares, and hosts of things
beside,
With all my strength God bids me say
to you:
"Dear soul, do try the daily Interview!"



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