The prophets sons, in time of old

The borrowed axe by John Newton


 * The prophets sons, in time of old,
 * Though to appearance poor;
 * Were rich without possessing gold,
 * And honored, 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.