At life's great board, which God has spread for all
The woman-child, no longer pushed to wall,
To welcome made & fall.
Doors open wide that once closed hard & fast
And paths are smooth, by bleeding feel-o'er=past;
So gain is won by loss.
Then let us grateful crown thy whitening head
With wreaths of honor that shall never fade,
And love that cannot die.
Already on thy pallid, furrowed brow,
A mystic hand has set the sacred Tau,
O victor of the Cross!
[But] Serving thy kind, thou well hast served
Better than human praise is their
Whose record is on high.
Boston, February 10, 1890
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