A WIDOW—she had only one!
A puny and decrepit son;
  But, day and night,
Though fretful oft, and weak and small,
A loving child, he was her all—
  The Widow’s Mite.

The Widow’s Mite—ay, so sustained,
She battled onward, nor complained,
  Though friends were fewer:
And while she toiled for daily fare,
A little...