Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold By "F. Harald Williams"[i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
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MAN IS WHAT WOMAN MAKES HIM. |
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 | Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold |  |
MAN IS WHAT WOMAN MAKES HIM.
Man is what woman makes him,
And so I say, God bless her;
A hero, if to her white breast she takes him
When downward passions pull,
And moulds him beautiful—
Her bulwark and assessor;
But if she fools and then at last forsakes him,
A low and lost transgressor.
But when her fingers play upon his heart
As though it were her lute strings,
No longer mild and mute strings,
He leaps to glory and the goodlier part.
And so I say, God bless her;
A hero, if to her white breast she takes him
When downward passions pull,
And moulds him beautiful—
Her bulwark and assessor;
But if she fools and then at last forsakes him,
A low and lost transgressor.
But when her fingers play upon his heart
As though it were her lute strings,
No longer mild and mute strings,
He leaps to glory and the goodlier part.
Man is what woman makes him,
And so I say, God bless her;
A noble worker, if she wins and wakes him,
And watches through the night
With him to morning light—
A stout and staunch confessor;
But if with false or trifling arts she breaks him,
No mate or wrong's redresser,
But when she breathes her love into his life
And bathes him in her beauty,
He thrills to each high duty
And comes as conqueror out of every strife.
And so I say, God bless her;
A noble worker, if she wins and wakes him,
And watches through the night
With him to morning light—
A stout and staunch confessor;
But if with false or trifling arts she breaks him,
No mate or wrong's redresser,
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And bathes him in her beauty,
He thrills to each high duty
And comes as conqueror out of every strife.
Man is what woman makes him,
And so I say, God bless her;
A true yoke-fellow, if she tends and takes him
With each imperfect plan,
A frail and fallen man,
In suffering her assessor;
But if she asks completeness and forsakes him,
He must be more transgressor.
For he is only human at the best,
And she may urge him forward,
As waves together shoreward
Beat on, and but in dying gain their rest.
And so I say, God bless her;
A true yoke-fellow, if she tends and takes him
With each imperfect plan,
A frail and fallen man,
In suffering her assessor;
But if she asks completeness and forsakes him,
He must be more transgressor.
For he is only human at the best,
And she may urge him forward,
As waves together shoreward
Beat on, and but in dying gain their rest.
Man is what woman makes him,
And so I say, God bless her;
A helper in the struggle, if she wakes him
From drowsy poppied sloth,
To keep the eternal troth
With Christ as his Confessor.
But if she slumbers, or with slighting breaks him,
No aid or ill's redresser.
For her pure softness is a heaven-sent stayer
Yet stronger far than iron,
And her weak arms environ
His force like blessings of perpetual prayer.
And so I say, God bless her;
A helper in the struggle, if she wakes him
From drowsy poppied sloth,
To keep the eternal troth
With Christ as his Confessor.
But if she slumbers, or with slighting breaks him,
No aid or ill's redresser.
For her pure softness is a heaven-sent stayer
Yet stronger far than iron,
And her weak arms environ
His force like blessings of perpetual prayer.
| Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold | |