p. 12 | THE HOME by Mrs. Frances D. Gage

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Dec 15, 1898

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 24, No. 50.

THE HOME

By Mrs. Frances D. Gage

"That our sons may be as plants grown up in their youth; that our daughters may be as corner-stones, polished after the similitude of a palace."

I KNOW A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN.

I know a beautiful woman, But she's not of "sweet sixteen," Full sixty winters have come and gone The "now" and the "then" between. Yet every year hath added A something so fair and true That to me she's the sweetest woman I think that I ever knew.

Her eye may be dimmer growing, It hath lost the glance of youth, But up from the inner fountains It is flashing love and truth; Her cheeks have not all the freshness Of the rosebud's glowing red; The purity of the lily, Full blown, has come in its stead.

All over her face of beauty There are lines of days gone by— Of holy loves and earnest hopes That have wrought there patiently; They are lovelier far than dimples, For I know that each was given To mark the years of dutiful life That have fitted her for heaven.

I never think of that woman But my heart throbs high with love, And I ask, "Can she be more beauteous In the blissful realms above?" I can scarcely in my dreaming See her face more fair and bright; She seems to me now, with her radiant brow, A spirit of love and light.

The poet may sing his praises Of the glow of "sweet sixteen;" But there's a holier beauty Of sixty-five, I ween; For the girlish face that's molded By a true and loving heart, Will brighten as the heart throbs on, Rechiseling every part. —Mrs. Frances D. Gage.