If pure and earnest, never failed The prayers of man or maid For him who on the deep sea sailed, For her at home who stayed.
Once thither came two girls from school And wished in childish glee: And one would be a queen and rule, And one the world would see.
Time passed; with change of hopes and fears And in the selfsame place, Two women, gray with middle years, Stood wondering, face to face.
With wakened memories, as they met, They queried what had been: "A poor man's wife am I, and yet," Said one, "I am a queen.
"My realm a little homestead is, Where, lacking crown and throne, I rule by loving services And patient toil alone."
The other said: "The great world lies Beyond me as it laid; O'er love's and duty's boundaries My feet have never strayed.
"I see but common sights at home, Its common sounds I hear, My widowed mother's sick-bed room Sufficeth for my sphere.
"I read to her some pleasant page Of travel far and wide, And in a dreamy pilgrimage We wander side by side.
"And when, at last, she falls asleep, My book becomes to me A magic glass: my watch I keep, But all the world I see.
"A farm-wife queen your place you fill, While fancy's privilege Is mine to walk the earth at will, Thanks to the Wishing Bridge."
"Nay, leave the legend for the truth," The other cried, "and say God gives the wishes of our youth But in His own best way!"
These are the things I hold divine: A trusting chi id's hand laid in mine, Rich brown earth and wind-tossed trees, The taste of grapes and the drone of bees, A rhythmic gallop, long June days, A rose-hedged lane and lovers' lays, The welcome smile on neighbors' faces, Cool, wide hills and open places, Breeze-blown fields of silver rye, The wild, sweet note of the plover's cry, Fresh spring showers and scent of box, The soft, pale tint of the garden phlox, Lilacs blooming, a drowsy noon, A flight of geese and an autumn moon, Rolling meadows and storm-washed heights, A fountain murmur on summer nights, A dappled fawn in the forest hush, Simple words and the song of a thrush, Rose-red dawns and a mate to share With comrade soul my gypsy fare, A waiting fire when the twilight ends, A gallant heart and the voice of friends.
The bravest battle that ever was fought! Shall I tell you where and when? On the map of the world you will find it not, 'Twas fought by the mothers of men.