Behold, she stands
And stretches out her hands
For aid.
Those firm, strong hands,
Those gentle, helpful hands,
Whose spirit unafraid
Of sin and shame and loss
Have borne the burden of the cross
For girls unnamable, whose feet
Have trod the open street,
The market-place
Of body and of soul,
In search of toll
From any man who gave
To own a common slave,
The chattel of the street.
These Bedford comes to meet,
But not as shameless things;
To them she brings
Love, courage, hope, the better way,
The clean, new day
Whose morning sun awakes
Another world to those half gone
And hopeless ones
To whom there was no other dawn.
And now she stands
With outstretched hands
For aid; the means to lift
Out of the ghastly drift
These girl-souls crying in the night
For kindly light.
And shall she be denied?
Shall men who buy
Deny?
Shall any man, in whom his pride
In his own womankind is strong,
Go wrong
And say
To Bedford: “Nay”?