One Day's Long Rest

She had no song to sing; her notes were dumbWith minor drabs and greys - Those little frets which daily seemed to come And silent psalms of praise.

The toiling and the "making both ends meet" - The ruts of commonplace - Had blotted out the smile, all cheery, sweet Which once had sunned her face.

She paused and thought; then took a long days rest Of hand and foot and brain; And strength and hope crept back into her breast With carols once again.

Lilian Gard, 1919.