And if she thought of ease and rest,

Of love that spells God's name the best,

Her few friends heard but one request—

"Pray for a tired little woman."

She sat from dawn till weary dusk.

Her hands plied on—with but a husk

Of bread to break

And for Christ's sake

To bless: was He not human?

[Pg 55]

Then when the light would leave her brush

She'd sit there still, in the dim hush,

And say aloud, lest tears should rush—

"Pray for a tired little woman."

They found her so—one morning when

A knock brought no sweet welcome ken

Of her still face

And cloistral grace

And brow so bravely human.

They found her by the window bar,

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