The little woman, to her I bow <br /> And doff my hat as I pass her by; <br />I reverence the furrows that mark her brow, <br /> And the sparkling love light in her eye. <br />The little woman who stays at home, <br /> And makes no bid for the world's applause; <br />Who never sighs for a chance to roam, <br /> But toils all day in a grander cause. <br /> <br />The little woman, who seems so weak, <br /> Yet bears her burdens day by day; <br />And no one has ever heard her speak <br /> In a bitter or loud complaining way. <br />She sings a snatch of a merry song, <br /> As she toils in her home from morn to night. <br />Her work is hard and the hours are long <br /> But the little woman's heart is light. <br /> <br />A slave to love is that woman small, <br /> And yearly her burdens heavier grow, <br />But somehow she seems to bear them all, <br /> As the deep'ning lines in her white cheeks show. <br />Her children all have a mother's care, <br /> Her home the touch of a good wife knows; <br />No burden's too heavy for her to bear, <br /> But, patiently doing her best, she goes. <br /> <br />The little woman, may God be kind <br /> To her wherever she dwells to-day; <br />The little woman who seems to find <br /> Her joy in toiling along life's way. <br />May God bring peace to her work-worn breast <br /> And joy to her mother-heart at last; <br />May love be hers when it's time to rest, <br /> And the roughest part of the road is passed. <br /> <br />The little woman- how oft it seems <br /> God chooses her for the mother's part; <br />And many a grown-up sits and dreams <br /> To-day of her with an aching heart. <br />For he knows well how she toiled for him <br /> And he sees it now that it is too late; <br />And often his eyes with tears grow dim <br /> For the little woman whose strength was great.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-little-woman/
