Classic Poem

" Thirty thousand!" said the Fate,
Mixer of the days to be,
As she passed the mystic gate, —
Little Quaker baby, she!

Thirty thousand days and nights —
This the dower with which she came:
All their sounds and all their sights
Vested in the tiny dame.

" Thirty thousand," said the Fate;
But who draw the royal breath
Into deeds the days translate,
Dainty Queen Elizabeth!

Price is high for royal dowers;
Thee must earn thy golden state!
Spendthrift gods fling out the hours,
Miser gods keep count and weight.

Day and night and night and day,
One by one the thousands flee:
Lady of the Yea and Nay,
Thou hast earned thy queenerie!

Earned it as a noble should,
Dauntless, tireless, gentle-strong;
Giving Yea to every good,
Daring Nay to every wrong.

Not in calendars thy fame,
But secrete in happy prayer;
Lips have blessed thee — not by name —
Thanking God for " daily care."

Thou dost leave a sweeter earth,
Less of poison, less of fen,
By thy precedent of worth
Stablished in the world's Amen.

Thou art part of all uplift!
One tint brighter rises morn
Henceforth ever, — this thy gift
Wheresoe'er a child is born.