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Edgar Guest - The Little Woman
Work rating: Low

The little woman, to her I bow
  And doff my hat as I pass her by;
I reverence the furrows that mark her brow,
  And the sparkling love light in her eye.
The little woman who stays at home,
  And makes no bid for the world`s applause;
Who never sighs for a chance to roam,
  But toils all day in a grander cause.

The little woman, who seems so weak,
  Yet bears her burdens day by day;
And no one has ever heard her speak
  In a bitter or loud complaining way.
She sings a snatch of a merry song,
  As she toils in her home from morn to night.
Her work is hard and the hours are long
  But the little woman`s heart is light.

A slave to love is that woman small,
  And yearly her burdens heavier grow,
But somehow she seems to bear them all,
  As the deep`ning lines in her white cheeks show.
Her children all have a mother`s care,
  Her home the touch of a good wife knows;
No burden`s too heavy for her to bear,
  But, patiently doing her best, she goes.

The little woman, may God be kind
  To her wherever she dwells to-day;
The little woman who seems to find
  Her joy in toiling along life`s way.
May God bring peace to her work-worn breast
  And joy to her mother-heart at last;
May love be hers when it`s time to rest,
  And the roughest part of the road is passed.

The little woman--how oft it seems
  God chooses her for the mother`s part;
And many a grown-up sits and dreams
  To-day of her with an aching heart.
For he knows well how she toiled for him
  And he sees it now that it is too late;
And often his eyes with tears grow dim
  For the little woman whose strength was great.
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