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Updated: June 18, 2025
I'll ha' nothing to do wi' the likes o' you as goes about takin' poor folks's childer from 'em. There's my poor Glory's been an' took atwixt you an' grannie, and shet up in a formatory as you calls it; an' I should like to know what right you've got to go about that way arter poor girls as has mothers to help." "I assure you I had nothing to do with it," said my father.
"Glory," said she, to-day, "I'm going to let you share a little treasure of mine something Mr. Armstrong gave me." Glory's eyes deepened and glowed. "It is thoughts," said Faith. "Thoughts in verse. I shall read it to you, because I think it will just answer you, as it did me. Don't you feel, sometimes, like a little brook in a deep wood?" Glory's gaze never moved from Faith's face.
Make way the ambulance make way!" "All over with that poor fellow! A pity, a pity!" These exclamations of the onlookers and the orders of the policemen mingled in one harsh clamor, yet leaving distinct upon Glory's hearing the words, "An old blind man."
Then Rosa told her of Brother Andrew's attempt to personate his master, and with what pitiful circumstances it had ended. "Only a lay brother, you say, Rosa?" "Yes, a poor half-witted soul apparently must have been, to imagine that a subterfuge like that would succeed in London." Glory's eyes were gleaming.
And I thought that I should crown them, Doubly bright with glory's prize, And a widow's veil is falling Doubly o'er my weeping eyes, For the brave knights ne'er again Will be found mid living men." The music paused, and soft dew-drops fell from her heavenly eyes.
The curtain had come down again by this time, and the men were deep in an argument about morality in art, Lord Robert protesting that art had no morality, and Drake maintaining that what Glory said was right, and there was no getting to the back of it. But the fourth act witnessed Glory's final vanquishment.
"Thou, who my glory's captain art, And general of my bleeding heart, Guardian of every thought I know, And sharer of my lot of woe; Light that illumes my happy face, The bliss of my soul's dwelling-place; Why must thou disappear from me, Thou glass wherein myself I see? Azarco, bid me understand What is it thou dost command Must I remain and wait for thee? Ah, tedious will that waiting be.
The you so glorified, to which the hymn is sung, may mean your better possibilities phenomenally taken, or the specific redemptive effects even of your failures, upon yourself or others. It may mean your loyalty to the possibilities of others whom you admire and love so, that you are willing to accept your own poor life, for it is that glory's partner.
Brandywine, whose current roll'd Proud with blood of heroes bold, That our country's debt shall tell, That our gratitude shall swell, Infant breasts thy wounds regret, "We do love you LAFAYETTE." Sires, who sleep in glory's bed, Sires, whose blood for us was shed, Taught us, when our knee we bend, With the prayer thy name to blend; Shall we e'er such charge forget? No!
Then, singing to make herself forget how hungry she was, she hurried into the littlest house and shall it be told? caught up her grandpa's plate and licked the crumbs from it, then inverted the tin cup and let the few drops still left in it trickle slowly down her throat; and such was Glory's dinner. Afterward she took out needle and thread and heigho!
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