Though Rhoda was a thoughtful girl,

Who tried to be polite,

She found her thoughts were all awhirl

That dark and starless night,

The night an angel of the Lord

Struck Peter on the side,

To save him from King Herod’s sword,

His prison, and his pride. 

While others fled the knocking sound

Lest they be caught and tried,

Brave Rhoda at the front was found,

Not seeking where to hide.

She heard the knocking at the gate,

She heard and knew the voice:

Now Peter or the saints must wait—

And it was Rhoda’s choice.

Knowing the saints had worried long,

To their relief she flew;

But was it, you may ask, the wrong

Or proper thing to do?

For there was something she forgot,

Though she remembered Peter:

A girl who brings good news must not

Think faith will always greet her.

With speed she flew to their relief;

With speed they said, “You’re crazy!”

(For that’s how clear-as-day belief

Appears to hope that’s hazy.)

But Peter stood there at the gate

To prove that she was right.

And God, who can appreciate

How Rhoda felt that night,

Has told the world of her small part

And mentioned her by name;

For she ran to the slow of heart—

And He has done the same.