p. 1 | The Doer | AdventAI

California Conference of Seventh-day Adventists · Oakland, Cal. · Feb 11, 1875

The Doer.

HER hands were not soft and waxen, Of a pale and delicate hue: They were brown and hard and rugged, With always something to do.

Something to do, when squanderers Were wasting the time away; Still doing, when dreamy idlers Sat moping the livelong day.

She had not gold in her treasure— In her veins no royal blood; But her noble, heartfelt duty Was the only path to good.

So to the faint and weary, Her hand it was firm and strong. Her smile was never so cheery As when helping the weak along.

To the lone, the sad, and sorrowing, She came like a ray of light, Gilding the darkest, dreariest shores That fell from the train of night.

She lived, but the world scarce knew it, She died—there was little to say: The pulpit "just heard of the woman," Who for others toiled night and day.

But He of the many Mansions Had waited to take her in, Well knowing that always faithful To the Master she had been.

—Methodist Protestant.