Kids Poems » The Little Cake; A Scripture Story

When o'er ancient Israel,
Ahab reigned, with Jezebel,
Fearful things the land befell,
From their pagan sway :
Prophets of the Lord were slain ;
Altars reared to idols vain ;
Sins were known, to earth a stain
Never washed away.

Ahab's bold Zidonian wife
Still pursued the vengeful strife,
Thirsting for Elijah's life,
Whom the Lord had sent,
On the land denouncing woe
Which the king and queen would show,
For the blood they'd caused to flow,
What his threatenings meant.

But the way the Prophet took,
Shown of God, to Cherith brook,
Where, in secret cave or nook,
He pursuit would shun.
Ravens, as the Lord had said,
Daily then, with meat and bread,
Night and morning came and fed
There, the lonely one.

Ministers of God were they,
Wafting on their airy way
Food his servant's life to stay
In his drear retreat ;
Till, as lie had prophesied,
Dew and rain to earth denied
Seared the grass, the streamlets dried,
As by torrid heat.

He who once a world could drown,
Now upon his foes sent down
Drought and famine, in his frown,
Through the kingdom spread.
Flock and herd, for drink and feed,
Pined and died on hill and mead ;
Man, too, fell, for broke indeed
Was his staff of bread.

From his covert sad and low,
God then bade Elijah go,
On a way that he would show,
And protect his path.
Rough the road he traveled o'er,
Till a gate he stood before
Near a widow's humble door.
Down in Zarephath.

She was out, and looking round,
Picking fuel from the ground,
When she heard the startling sound
Of the stranger's feet.
" Give me drink," Elijah said,
" And a morsel of your bread ;
Ere my fainting life hath fled,
Let me drink and eat !”

" As the Lord doth live," quoth she,
" For my famished son and me,
In our keen necessity,
Only left have I
Little oil, and ineal to make
For us twain a little cake,
Which I gather sticks to bake,
That we eat, and die !”

Still the Prophet urged his plea,
Water bring, and bread, to me ;
Haste with these ! and then for thee
And thy son provide."
Quick the cup his thirst to slake
Then she brought ; she sped to bake ;
And the ready little cake
Soon his want supplied.

From that hour her care had ceased ;
She, from want and fear released,
Saw her meal and oil increased ;
Ever full, her store.
God, who saw her feeling heart.
Trustful, void of self and art,
Prompt her morsel to impart,
Blessed her evermore.

Holy men, on heathen ground.
Now the Gospel trump would sound
More, could means of life be found
For their distant way.
But the needful little, cake -
Who for this the price will take
From his store, for Jesus' sake,
Trusting God for pay ?


International Short Story Writing Contest for School Children