A child in nature, eager, gay,
And, yet, in all a woman's way
Wifely and motherly her day.
Curious, but constant; slow to wrath,
Yet nobly scornful; pride she hath
That sheds a splendor on her path.
She breathes a heaven-born sympathy;
For her there is no low nor high;
Goodness is honor in her eye:
So, in the throng, each separate one
Deems her glad welcome his alone,
As if some special grace were shown.
The great world, seeing her afar,
Claims her, and names her for a star;
But, among nearer watchers, are
Some who a sacred tale could tell
How those bright beams, ineffable,
On one great hero-spirit fell.
V
Shall we not praise the living?
Too soon the living pass
Like images on the unremembering glass,
Scarce even a breath's length! shall we not thanksgiving
Upraise, or e'er the everlasting sleep
Hath dulled the ear? that slumber deep
Whereof we know so little, however we may hope—
Mortals who see a closing door, and never see it ope.
