For the hand of Sickness is heavy here
And the lamp bums low in the socket.
Mid rags, and want, and misery, piled,
A woman is watching her stricken child,
With a love so tender, a look so mild,
That the patient little sufTrer has smil'd—
A smile that is strangely fair!—
And lo! in that chamber, poverty-dyed,
A mother in all her dazzling pride—
A glorious mother is there!