care
That Thy tired handmaid washed the
children's hair;
Or, with red roughened hands, scoured
dishes well,
While through the window called the
evening bell?
And that her seeking soul looks upward
yet,
THEY do not know . . . but THOU wilt
not forget





A Woman in Hospital

I know it all . . . I know.
For I am God. I am Jehovah, He
Who made you what you are; and I can
see
The tears that wet your pillow night by
night,
When nurse has lowered that too-brilliant
light;
When the talk ceases, and the ward grows
still,
And you have doffed your will:
I know the anguish and the helplessness.