'Twas not rare versatility,
Nor gift of poesy or art,
Nor piquant, sparkling _jeux d'esprit_
Which at the call of fancy come,
That touched the universal heart,
And won the world's encomium.

It was not beauty's potent charm;
For admiration followed her
Unmindful of the rounded arm,
The fair complexion's brilliancy,
If form and features shapely were
Or lacked the grace of symmetry.

So not by marked, especial power
She grew endeared to human thought,
But just because, in trial's hour,
Was loving service to be done
Or sympathy and counsel sought,
She made herself the needed one.

Oh, great the blessedness must be
Of heart and hand and brain alert
In projects wise and manifold,
Impending sorrow to avert
That duller natures fail to see,
Or stand aloof severe and cold!

And who shall doubt that this is why
In womanhood's florescent prime
She passed the portals of the sky?
As if a life thus truly given
To purpose pure and act sublime
Were needed also up in Heaven.