The only one of all to-day
For whom she is not sorry;
And little Job has found a key
She will not lose to-morrow
The heart's gold key is—sympathy,
Its iron door—human sorrow,
And she will take the Christ-like task
To comfort all who suffer
Not even taking time to ask
If some paths are not rougher,
Not even telling of her trust
That walks serene and starry,
Until her lips have whispered first
That golden key—"I'm sorry."
For whom she is not sorry;
And little Job has found a key
She will not lose to-morrow
The heart's gold key is—sympathy,
Its iron door—human sorrow,
And she will take the Christ-like task
To comfort all who suffer
Not even taking time to ask
If some paths are not rougher,
Not even telling of her trust
That walks serene and starry,
Until her lips have whispered first
That golden key—"I'm sorry."
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