 | Poems of home and country |  |
116
WOMEN'S RIGHTS.
'T is the question of the day;
They discuss it every May,
With all their wit and learning;
And renew it in October,—
Dames, strong-minded, and men, sober,
Stupid souls, and souls discerning.
They discuss it every May,
With all their wit and learning;
And renew it in October,—
Dames, strong-minded, and men, sober,
Stupid souls, and souls discerning.
Oh, for wisdom to pronounce,
To the tittle of an ounce,
For our wives, and for some prim men,
The number, weight, and measure
Of that rich and precious treasure,—
The rights, to wit, of women.
To the tittle of an ounce,
For our wives, and for some prim men,
The number, weight, and measure
Of that rich and precious treasure,—
The rights, to wit, of women.
'T is my creed,—perhaps I'm wrong,
But I'll say it for a song,—
Their right is to promote us
From bachelors to men,
To excel us with the pen,
But never to outvote us.
But I'll say it for a song,—
Their right is to promote us
From bachelors to men,
To excel us with the pen,
But never to outvote us.
Should we let her vote at all,—
Woman great or woman small,—
Such majorities might aid her,
That the lords of this creation
Would lose their right and station,
And their claim to run the nation,
From zenith down to nadir.
Woman great or woman small,—
Such majorities might aid her,
That the lords of this creation
Would lose their right and station,
And their claim to run the nation,
From zenith down to nadir.
117
'T is their right, throughout the strife
Of this weary, toiling life,
To be gentle, loving, sweet,
And receive from us, the strong,—
Be the struggle brief or long,—
Shelter 'mid the dust and heat.
Of this weary, toiling life,
To be gentle, loving, sweet,
And receive from us, the strong,—
Be the struggle brief or long,—
Shelter 'mid the dust and heat.
'T is their right in days of pain,
To calm the fevered brain,
Kind as the gentle rain
Or summer dew;
And to find in us relief
In days of toil and grief,—
Like them, patient, mild, and true.
To calm the fevered brain,
Kind as the gentle rain
Or summer dew;
And to find in us relief
In days of toil and grief,—
Like them, patient, mild, and true.
We yield to them the right
To be witty, brave, and bright,
In repartee to shine;
Better than sparkling toys,
To be mothers to our boys,
Famed for quiet or for noise,
Be the youngsters one or nine.
To be witty, brave, and bright,
In repartee to shine;
Better than sparkling toys,
To be mothers to our boys,
Famed for quiet or for noise,
Be the youngsters one or nine.
'T is their matchless right,—we claim,—
Their glory and their fame,
Not for foreign joys to roam;
But to break the clouds of sadness,
To strew earth's paths with gladness,
To be the sunlight of the home.
Their glory and their fame,
Not for foreign joys to roam;
But to break the clouds of sadness,
To strew earth's paths with gladness,
To be the sunlight of the home.
'T is their right in love to stand,
With tender heart and hand,
And to watch beside the bed,
Till the spirit upward flies;
And down the opening skies,
Like gleams from Paradise,
Heaven's light is round them shed.
With tender heart and hand,
And to watch beside the bed,
118
And down the opening skies,
Like gleams from Paradise,
Heaven's light is round them shed.
'T is their right, with holy feeling,
To be found, all meekly kneeling,
Before the throne of prayer.
'T is there they find their power,—
Grace is their richest dower;
Their dearest rights are there.
To be found, all meekly kneeling,
Before the throne of prayer.
'T is there they find their power,—
Grace is their richest dower;
Their dearest rights are there.
Oh, no, we would not take
One right,—for their dear sake,—
Nor pull their power down;
Theirs to strew the earth with good,
As earth's lords never could,
And then wear Heaven's crown.
One right,—for their dear sake,—
Nor pull their power down;
Theirs to strew the earth with good,
As earth's lords never could,
And then wear Heaven's crown.
Oh, no, we are not wrong,
Say we it in prose, or song!
'T is our pleasure to promote them
To the headship of our table,
To whatever good we 're able;
But we always will outvote them.
Say we it in prose, or song!
'T is our pleasure to promote them
To the headship of our table,
To whatever good we 're able;
But we always will outvote them.
| Poems of home and country | |