Over the wintry threshold
— Who comes with joy today,
So frail, yet so enduring,
— To triumph o'er dismay?

Ah, quick her tears are springing,
— And quickly they are dried,
For sorrow walks before her,
— But gladness walks beside.

She comes with gusts of laughter, —
— The music as of rills;
With tenderness and sweetness,
— The wisdom of the hills.

Her hands are strong to comfort,
— Her heart is quick to heed;
She knows the signs of sadness,
— She knows the voice of need;

There is no living creature,
— However poor or small,
But she will know its trouble,
— And hearken to its call.

Oh, well they fare forever,
— By mighty dreams possessed,
Whose hearts have lain a moment
— On that eternal breast.