| |
| SHE stood before a chosen few, | |
| With modest air and eyes of blue; | |
| A gentle creature, in whose face | |
| Were mingled tenderness and grace. | |
| |
| “You wish to join our fold,” they said: | 5 |
| “Do you believe in all that’s read | |
| From ritual and written creed, | |
| Essential to our human need?” | |
| |
| A troubled look was in her eyes; | |
| She answered, as in vague surprise, | 10 |
| As though the sense to her were dim, | |
| “I only strive to follow Him.” | |
| |
| They knew her life; how, oft she stood, | |
| Sweet in her guileless maidenhood, | |
| By dying bed, in hovel lone, | 15 |
| Whose sorrow she had made her own. | |
| |
| Oft had her voice in prayer been heard, | |
| Sweet as the voice of singing bird; | |
| Her hand been open in distress; | |
| Her joy to brighten and to bless. | 20 |
| |
| Yet still she answered, when they sought | |
| To know her inmost earnest thought, | |
| With look as of the seraphim, | |
| “I only strive to follow Him.” | |
| |
| Creeds change as ages come and go; | 25 |
| We see by faith, but little know: | |
| Perchance the sense was not so dim | |
| To her who “strove to follow Him.” | |
| |
