AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT.

By Elizabeth Stuart Phelps

For the faith that is not broken

By the burden of the day;

For the word that is not spoken

( Dearest words are slow to say );

For the golden draught unproffered

To the thirst that thirsteth on;

For the hand that is not offered

When the struggling strength is gone;

For the sturdy heart that will not

Make a pauper of my need;

Friend, I mean sometime to thank thee,

From my soul, in truth and deed.

Wait! Some day, when I am braver,

I will do so — say so. Now

( Oh! be tender! ) I am tired;

I have forgotten how.