Mine have been such busy hands; Hands that never faltered tho’ the Work of years was filled with Duty-bearing days of such demands As love fulfills; nor seek they Medals carved with high awards.
Here a speaker looks back on a lifetime of labor and sums it up through her hands. They have been "busy," and they never "faltered," even though the years brought one demanding day after another. What kept them going, she says, was love: the duties she carried were the kind that love fulfills, so the work was never just work.
The final lines hold the poem's quiet punch. She doesn't ask for recognition. Her hands don't seek "medals carved with high awards," the sort of public honor that usually goes to famous deeds. The poem suggests she finds her reward elsewhere, in the doing itself.
The mood is steady, humble, and a little proud. There's no complaint here, and no bitterness about being overlooked. The short, plain statements and the way sentences spill across line breaks give the voice an unhurried dignity, like someone calmly taking stock of a life well spent.