At play, betwixt her fingers white,
A needle nimbly glanced the light;
But oft her eyes it could not stay,
To either side would glance away.
And on her right hand, open spread,
There lay the Book of God she read;
And on her left I just could trace
An infant namesake’s pictured face.
The Book of God, the housekeeper,
The babe that had been named for her,