The Late Mrs. Nassau Senior's Work

True woman, gentle and yet strong To strive with misery and wrong, — Thy life was like a rhythmic song 'Mid aimless voices.

The poet whose fine ear has caught The music with which life is fraught, Through all discordant deed and thought, Is loved and honored.

He does but listen, and translate For us who stand outside the gate The harmonies for which we wait, And yet discern not.

But thou, with patient, loving care, Didst add a lost note here and there To the world's symphony, and dare To make it sweeter.

His the ecstatic rapture, thine The dull routine of toil divine, Where sympathy and skill combine In lowly labor.

We, who have not yet learned to play The tune God sets us day by day, Look up with wondering eyes, and say, "What was thy secret?"