This rare tablet doth include

Poverty with Sanctitude.

Past midnight this poor maid hath spun,

And yet the work is not half done,

Which must supply from earnings scant

A feeble bed-rid parents want.

Her sleep-charged eyes exemption ask

And Holy hands take up the task;

Unseen the rock and spindle ply,

And do her earthly drudgery.

Sleep, saintly poor one! sleep, sleep on;

And, waking, find they labours done.

Perchance she knows it by her dreams;

Her eye hath caught the golden gleams,

Angelic presence testifying,

That round her everywhere are flying;

Ostents from which she may presume,

That much of heaven is in the room.

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