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;
"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,
As though the sense to her were dim.
"I only strive to follow Him."
They knew her life, how oft she stood,
Pure in her guileless maidenhood,
By dying bed, in hovel lone,
Whose sorrow she had made her own.
Oft had her voice in prayer been heard,
Sweet as the note of any bird;
Her hand been open in distress;
Her joy to brighten and to bless.
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."
--Sarah Knowles Bolton.