A friendless stranger in the city lorn,
Toil-grimed and blackened with the smoke upborne
Of human sacrifice of brain and hand.
Then Art, aweary, laid her down and slept
Beneath an ancient gate, and dreaming, smiled,
For Hope, like spring, came full of tidings good;
And Labour, huge and free, and Brotherhood
Led her between them like a little child
In time new born, to glad new life that leapt.