A Little Maid

She had found peace in Syria,
and to her mistress thus she spake,
The prophet in Samaria
The master well again could make„

Her words were brought to Syria's king;
Who straightway sent to Israel
To ask for healing From her king,
That he might Naaman make well.

The king of Israel was are
This meant a plot to bring on war;
For Naaman he could not heal.
The daring letter made him sore.

Elisha heard, and to the king
He said, Send Naaman to me.
I healing to this man will bring,
And he, that God is here will see.

And so it was that Naaman
Found healing, and his life restored
And he went back a new born man
Who henceforth Jacob's God adored.

It was that little Jewish maid
Whose faith and words led to all this.
Her own complaint aside she laid
To bring to others hope and bliss.
She was a little Jewish maid,
captive, and a household slave.
The Syrians had made a raid
And none was able her to save.

We do not even know her name,
Nor whether they her parents slew,
But Naaman for her made claim
A slave, to serve his wife, in view.

Now Naaman was counted great
In Syria, and by his king,
Whom he had rescued from sad fate.
He strength to Syria did bring.

But leprosy had seized the man
and Syria saw with dismay
Disease had laid on him a ban
From which he could not break away

But no where was the grief so keen
As in the home of Naaman.
Such grief did desolation mean.
To see this anybody can.

Their grief the little girl did see,
And pity filled her youthful heart
No bitterness remembered she
To think she played a captive's part.

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