Whose leafy pride falls headlong shattering;
My wife with finger nimble, dexterous,
Moulding the while a hundred things at home.

⁠There is a power enthralling human souls
In equal dealings, in a lofty life,
And lowly Love's unwearying ministry.
One who inherits wisdom's treasure-house,
And lives endow'd with more than wonted grace
Of human faculty, may forge the gold
Thereof to ignominious chains for men;
Or twine the spiritual wealth, for their
Deliverance, to cords of fair persuasion,
Wooing their own endeavours after God.
I wielding for the common use, not mine,
A wider knowledge and a riper skill,
Bestow'd free counsel or sincere reproof;
Tended my children when their bodies ail'd;
Lent a large heart to small perplexities.
And simple tales of hourly human woe. . . .
. . . Have these a lowlier place allotted them?
Yet they full surely have their post prepared