She will be a meek-faced woman, Chastened by Affliction’s rod, Who hath worshiped at the altar Of the spirit’s “unknown God;” Who in want, and woe, and weakness, All alone the wine-press trod, Till the salt sea-foam of Sorrow Whitened on her quivering lips, Till her heart’s full tide of anguish Flooded to her finger-tips, And her soul sank down in darkness, Smitten by a dread eclipse. “Pure in heart,” and “poor in spirit,” Hers will be that inner life, Which Earth’s martyr-souls inherit, Who are conquerors in the strife. Born of God they walk with Angels, Where the air with love is rife. Men will call her “Laureola,”[5] And her pale, meek brow will crown; But with holiest aspirations, She will shun the world’s renown, And before the Truth’s high altar, Cast Earth’s votive offerings down. Men will sit like little children At her feet, high truths to learn, And for love, the pure and holy, She will cause their hearts to yearn; Then the innocence of Eden To their spirits shall return. Very fearless in her freedom, She will scorn to simply please; But the fiercest lion-spirits She will lead with quiet ease. Calm, but earnest, firm and truthful, She will utter words like these:-- “Wherefore, O ye sons of Sorrow! Do ye idly sit and borrow Care and trouble for the morrow-- Filling up your cup with woe? Leave, O, leave your visions dreary! Hush your doleful miserére! See the lilies how they grow-- “Bending down their heads so lowly, As though heaven were far too holy, Growing patiently and slowly To the end that God designed. In their fragrance and their beauty, Filling up their sphere of duty-- Each is perfect in its kind. “Deeper than all sense of seeing Lies the secret source of being, And the soul with Truth agreeing, Learns to live in thoughts and deeds. ‘For the life is more than raiment,’ And the Earth is pledged for payment Unto man, for all his needs. “Nature is your common mother, Every living man your brother; Therefore love and serve each other; Not to meet the law’s behest, But because through cheerful giving, You will learn the art of living, And to love and serve is best. “Life is more than what man fancies-- Not a game of idle chances, But it steadily advances Up the rugged steeps of Time, Till man’s complex web of trouble-- Every sad hope’s broken bubble, Hath a meaning most sublime. “More of practice, less profession, More of firmness, less concession, More of freedom, less oppression In your Church and in your State; More of life, and less of fashion, More of love, and less of passion-- That will make you good and great.