What said those women as they bore
Their fragrant gifts away?
The spices that they needed not,
That resurrection day?

Did Mary say within her heart,
Our work has been in vain?
Or counting o’er the spices bought
Of so much waste complain?

Not so, for though the risen Lord
Their spices did not need,
Not unrewarded was the love
That planned the reverent deed.

For though unused their fragrant store
Yet well might they rejoice,
Since they the first who saw the Lord,
The first who heard His voice.

Sweet story, hast thou not some truth
For my impatient heart?
Some lesson that shall stay with me
Its comfort to impart?

Have I not gathered in the past,
In days that are no more,
Of spices sweet and ointment rare,
What seemed a precious store?

A little knowledge I had gained,
A little strength and skill,
I thought to use them for my Lord,
If such should be His will.

Alas my store unused hath been,
The strength I prized hath gone,
My weary hands have lost their skill,
And yet my life goes on.

In all the busy work of life
I have but scanty share,
And scanty is the service done
For Him whose Name I bear.
So many hopes and plans have died
In weariness and pain,
My heart cries out in sore distress,
Was all my work in vain?

Be still sad heart; thy hopes and plans
Are known to One divine;
He knoweth all thou wouldst have done
Had greater strength been thine.

My unused spices, Dearest Lord,
They were prepared for Thee,
Yet if for them Thou hast no need,
Let love my offering be.