And ere it melted and light returned,

The very benches for warmth we burned!

Nor is there want, in our busy hive,

Of children keeping the house alive:

For she has seven, and I have nine;

But three of hers and the first of mine

Are safe with Jesus,—more happy they!

Two more have married and gone away.

My son's young wife, with her infant small,

Make up the household—fourteen in all."

"In this," he said, "there is much to praise:

In humble service you pass your days,

And spend your life for your children's needs.

But tell me now of the pious deeds

(For such there are) that you seek to hide,

To me in a vision signified!"

"But, sir, we are just two poor old wives.

Who never have done in all our lives

A pious deed that was worth the name!"

She said; and her white head drooped with shame.

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