An angel came from the courts of gold,
With gifts and tidings manifold;
With blessings many to crown the one
Whose work of life was the noblest done.
He came to a rich man's gilded door;
Where a beautiful lady stood before
His vision, fair as the saints are fair,
With smile as sweet as the seraphs wear.
He needed not to be told her life--
The pure young mother, the tender wife;
He needed not to be told that she,
In home of sorrow and poverty,
Was giving wealth with a lavish hand;
He thought her worthy in heaven to stand.
"No! no!" a voice to the angel heart
Spoke low: "Seek on in the busy mart."
He found a door that was worn and old;
The night was damp and the wind was cold.
A pale-faced girl at her sewing bent;
The midnight lamp to her features lent
A paler look as she toiled the while,
But yet the mouth had a restful smile.
Doing her duty with honest pride;
Breasting temptation on every side.
"For her the blessings," the angel said,
And touched with pity the girlish head.
"No time nor money for alms has she,
But duty is higher than charity."
--Sarah Knowles Bolton.