Marguerite Wilkinson

SHE was grown old in misery and want;

Her threads of life heckled by sordid need,

Stretched taut by lack of love and woven plain

And then by pain and fear worn very thin.

One would not look for prettiness and grace

In such a fabric!
Yet this charwoman,

Dun and bedraggled though she surely seemed,

By a brave miracle of God’s good love,

Is rich and sweet and lovely in my eyes.

Because I met the morning with a smile,

Because I gave a pleasant kindly word,

Which was small gift out of my happiness,

For this, with utmost gracious courtesy,

She touched her lips one morning to my hand.

And my heart leaped in me to follow her!