Boots from the Wife of God

One cold and bitter winter's night, Shifting his bare feet in despair, Outside a shoe shop, shivering slight, A ragged boy stood frozen there.

With tearful eyes pressed to the pane, Through frost's small cracks he peered within, His frozen lips moved once again: "Lord, send me boots," his prayer thin.

Then came a girl, all joy and glee, Behind her mother from the store, In splendid boots of revelry, She skipped and danced across the floor.

A gentleman with son in tow Emerged and cursed his servant man For dropping shoes and moving slow To open doors as best he can.

The boy stood breathing on his hands, Unnoticed in his misery, His small feet frozen where he stands, He longed inside just warm to be.

But from the doorway came a voice: "What do you want?" "To warm my feet..." "Away, you beggar, go rejoice! Without your coins, you've no place here, street!"

The dusk grew thick. The darkness spread. The falling snow had numbed him through. Then suddenly he heard, 'twas said, In sleep or waking: "Child, it's you?"

A lady bent down, kind and fair, Like mother love, to see his plight. "You're barefoot! Tell me, do you care— Where is your home? Your parents' site?"

Without awaiting his reply, She pulled the boy into the store. "Bring heated water, bring it nigh, I'll pay you, yes, and even more."

The boy thawed slowly from the cold And gradually began to tell How he was wanted by no soul, In poverty and misery's knell.

He couldn't even half recall His mother's face from days gone by. He slept wherever night would fall... The lady's eyes began to cry:

"How have you lived? How did you last? I cannot comprehend, my dear..." She dressed his feet at length at last In woolen socks, both warm and clear,

Then bought him boots of warmth and cheer, And he could scarcely believe it true, That this was real and not a sphere Of dreams spun from the morning dew.

He gazed long into her kind eyes And, gathering his courage small, At last he ventured his surprise: "Are you, perhaps, God's wife? That's all?"

The lady asked in some dismay, "What makes you think such things of me? I'm simply just a mother, say, A woman who loves children, see."

The boy then answered her with grace: "Before he died, my father told In words I never did erase: You'll not be alone, be bold.

The Lord, he said, will not forsake His own, so trust and have no fear. Just fold your hands for mercy's sake, And ask with faith, and He will hear.

I folded hands and asked with prayer For boots to warm my frozen feet... And so I thought—beyond compare— You must be God's wife, so sweet..."

Then with emotion deep and true, The lady held the boy with care: "No, you will not be lonely, too, Come home with me, my child so fair..."