Classic Poem

A HEAP of gold and silver coin up-piling
For a duty, sat the woman of my vow;
Madonna eyes, and lips relaxed in smiling,
The quiet law of peace upon her brow;
Where worldly feet went back and forward filing,
The world's lily grew beside the slough.

Must the crowning years in custom and in payment —
The priceless — all be lavished there unprized,
And the pure fame so rich beyond all raiment
Be worn where the vesture is despised?
Must the world, then, remain the victor-claimant
For the fair sweet guerdon God devised?

O our Father, is it selfish, is it silly,
To pray Thee for a portion of Thy best?
My pathway is companionless and hilly,
I falter, I am weary and depressed;
There is comfort where it grows, in Thy lily,
There were strength were it laid upon my breast.