Her eyes were gray and lacked in glow, Her voice some thought was gruff, And when excited was not slow To use a sharp rebuff; For she in speech was free from art; Men feared her verbal stroke, And yet they said, "She has a heart; She never wears a cloak." Her creed, perhaps, was heterodox, If creed she ever had. She knew far more of pans and crocks, But this was not her fad; Her light, I fear, did not shine out In pious talk and airs, In fact I entertain a doubt If she oft said her prayers. Her light, if dim, was never hid, Yet looked not for applause; For kindly deeds she often did, In line with highest laws. She lacked it may be that rare grace Which some I know endowers, Yet good in her I gladly trace-- _She dearly loved the flowers._ MY PANSY PETS My pansy pets are sleeping well Beneath their quilt of snow; How they can breathe I cannot tell, Nor how their rootlets grow; But soon the snow will melt away And April showers descend; Then shall appear in colors gay Each little pansy friend. Of pride it may not show a trace; Of lowly mind, alway; But will not blush to show its face All through the lifelong day: Its fragrance other flowers surpass, In form more stately, too. But when you see my pets in mass, Thank God they ever grew. For though the human face may frown, Or show a heart of guile, My pansy pets as you look down Will look at you and smile; Nor will they murmur if you should Pluck off their brightest bloom; Their mission is to do us good, And smile away our gloom. LOVE BETTER THAN KNOWLEDGE O Thou Eternal One, look down Upon an erring child of earth; Thy handiwork with knowledge crown, Or life will seem of little worth; By Thine own light illume my way, And turn this darkness into day. I hear a whisper in my heart-- "Than knowledge, better far is love; Thy knowledge here is but in part, The perfect waits for Thee above: Walk now by faith, and leave to me The things now wrap'd in mystery." Weighed down with mysteries profound I lean upon Thy loving breast; The great unknown still girts me round, But Thou art mine, and here I rest; Unsolved the mysteries remain; But they no longer give me pain. My finite mind may never grasp The thought of Thy immensity; But I Thy hand more firmly clasp-- To feel Thee near suffices me; For Thou art knowledge, power, and love, The same in earth and heaven above. A SUFFERING GOD Man is like God in miniature, When he is at his best; His motives and impulses pure, His heart and will at rest; No conflict in himself is felt, His light no earthly beam, While love encircles like a belt, And conscience is supreme. As thus endowed a creature may The keenest sufferings feel; Not such as rack the frame of clay, Which art of man may heal; But pain untold at others' woes, And deadly blight of sin, Which right and virtue overthrows, And blackens all within.