So not by marked, especial power
She grew endeared to human thought,
But just because, in trial's hour,
Was loving service to be done
Or sympathy and counsel sought,
She made herself the needed one.
Oh, great the blessedness must be
Of heart and hand and brain alert
In projects wise and manifold,
Impending sorrow to avert
That duller natures fail to see,
Or stand aloof severe and cold!
And who shall doubt that this is why
In womanhood's florescent prime
She passed the portals of the sky?
As if a life thus truly given
To purpose pure and act sublime
Were needed also up in Heaven.
"Thy Will Be Done."
Sometimes the silver cord of life
Is loosed at one brief stroke;
As when the elements at strife,
With Nature's wild contentions rife,
Uproot the sturdy oak.
Or fell disease, in patience borne,
Attenuates the frame
Till the meek sufferer, wan and worn,
Of energy and beauty shorn,
Death's sweet release would claim.
By instant touch or long decay
Is dissolution wrought;
When, lost to earth, the grave and gay,
The young and old who pass away,
Abide in hallowed thought.
In dear regard together drawn,
Affection's debt to pay,
Fond greetings we exchange at dawn
With one who, ere the day be gone,
Is bruised and lifeless clay.