By Lucile Talmage Carlisle.
I would have beauty to charm him and fire him,
Thoughts, white as feathers, to calm and inspire him,
Music enough to fill four little walls,
Visions to struggle for—love over all.
Hands not too white for the day’s stern request—
Let me know toiling and triumph and rest,
Blessed contentment in small things and poor,
Lifting my eyes from the world’s golden lure.
Make me forgiving of small, driftless wounds—
Give me his heart to read—keep mine attuned.
Let not the years pass and leave us alone,
Grant us Thy Miracle, all for our own.
Let me be brave in the anguish of giving,
Srniling and proud for the glory of living.
Give me a song when the morning is gold,
Give me a smile when toiling is old,
Warmth in my handclasp for dusk, chill and gray,
Prayers and a dream at the close of the day.