That warmed her soul, and lit the scenes
Through which her figure went and came.

Her smile of welcome was his meed;
Her presence was his great reward;
He questioned sadly if, indeed,
He loved more loyally his Lord,
Or if his Lord felt greater need.

And Mildred, vexed, misunderstood,
Knew all his love, but might not tell
How in his thought, so large and good,
And in his heart, there did not dwell
The measure of her womanhood.

She knew the girlish charm would fade;
She knew the rapture would abate;
That years would follow when the maid,
Merged in the matron, and sedate
With change, and sitting in the shade

Of a great nature, would become
As poor and pitiful a thing
As an old idol, and as dumb,--
A clog upon an upward wing,--
A value stricken from the sum

Which a true woman's hand would raise
To mighty numbers, and endow
With kingly power and crowning praise.