 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
BY THE CROSS.
When the Saviour hung deserted
In his bitter need,
Finding pledge of man perverted,
None to render heed;
When in that dark hour of trial,
Heaven in darkness bound
Seemed to yield his prayers denial,
Who was faithful found?
Though by God and man forsaken,
He endured the loss,
Woman weeping stood, unshaken,
By the Cross.
In his bitter need,
Finding pledge of man perverted,
None to render heed;
When in that dark hour of trial,
Heaven in darkness bound
Seemed to yield his prayers denial,
Who was faithful found?
Though by God and man forsaken,
He endured the loss,
Woman weeping stood, unshaken,
By the Cross.
Thus it was, and thus for ever
Is the woman's part,—
Though the end of her endeavour,
Be a broken heart—
Though the shop, by rats and vermin
Friends abandoned, reel
On the rocks that doom determine—
Still alone to kneel;
Loyal to the last, if gather
Reefs and ruin whelm,
Steadfast, looking to the Father,
At the helm.
Is the woman's part,—
Though the end of her endeavour,
Be a broken heart—
Though the shop, by rats and vermin
Friends abandoned, reel
On the rocks that doom determine—
Still alone to kneel;
Loyal to the last, if gather
Reefs and ruin whelm,
Steadfast, looking to the Father,
At the helm.
Soldiers, to whom death no stranger
Is, by iron strife
Dandled on the breast of danger
Into hero life;
Yet at times, when grim defiance
Rears its awful arch,
Somehow lose their self-reliance
Like a conqueror's march;
Woman will be seen, commanding,
Whom no panics reach,
Shot and shell and hell withstanding,
In the breach.
Is, by iron strife
Dandled on the breast of danger
Into hero life;
Yet at times, when grim defiance
Rears its awful arch,
Somehow lose their self-reliance
Like a conqueror's march;
Woman will be seen, commanding,
Whom no panics reach,
Shot and shell and hell withstanding,
In the breach.
If the coxcomb trim and dapper,
Sink beneath his load—
Even the pioneer and sapper,
Fail to fashion road;
If the veteran of stages
Trod in history's light,
Shrink from the last dreadful pages
Of the coming night;
Woman, then, with fearless beauty
Fresh from heavenly font,
Will shine out and do her duty,
At the front.
Sink beneath his load—
Even the pioneer and sapper,
Fail to fashion road;
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Trod in history's light,
Shrink from the last dreadful pages
Of the coming night;
Woman, then, with fearless beauty
Fresh from heavenly font,
Will shine out and do her duty,
At the front.
Should the furnace pile be heated
Seven times, and the frame
Which so often Death has cheated,
Blench before its flame;
Should a hopeless fight, or fortune,
Shape of darkness day,
And a thousand bribes importune
Her a safer way;
Woman delicate, and only
With divine desire,
Will not quail, if lost and lonely,
In the fire.
Seven times, and the frame
Which so often Death has cheated,
Blench before its flame;
Should a hopeless fight, or fortune,
Shape of darkness day,
And a thousand bribes importune
Her a safer way;
Woman delicate, and only
With divine desire,
Will not quail, if lost and lonely,
In the fire.
Sentinels may fail to number
Foemen round them prest,
Soothed by a voluptuous slumber
Into deadly rest;
Watchmen may desert the treasure
Of their station high,
Lured by honeyed lips of pleasure,
Wanton look or sigh;
Woman, if her life be breaking,
Overborne by host,
Still will stand erect, awaking,
At her post.
Foemen round them prest,
Soothed by a voluptuous slumber
Into deadly rest;
Watchmen may desert the treasure
Of their station high,
Lured by honeyed lips of pleasure,
Wanton look or sigh;
Woman, if her life be breaking,
Overborne by host,
Still will stand erect, awaking,
At her post.
Pilgrims by the wayside sicken,
Dropping one by one,
While the threatening shadows thicken,
Fainting and foredone;
Statesmen, who, a nation moulded
To some mightier shape,
Fall at length, by doom enfolded
Power could not escape;
Woman, if the earthquake sunder
Paths, or whirlwind bend,
Walks serene through bolts and thunder,
To the end.
Dropping one by one,
While the threatening shadows thicken,
Fainting and foredone;
Statesmen, who, a nation moulded
To some mightier shape,
Fall at length, by doom enfolded
Power could not escape;
Woman, if the earthquake sunder
Paths, or whirlwind bend,
Walks serene through bolts and thunder,
To the end.
In eclipse of pain and peril,
At the birth or grave,
When the hours are starved and sterile,
There is woman brave;
When our wealth and health prove mortal,
When we suffer ill,
Lovely at the loveless portal,
There is woman still;
Heedless of the wounds, or wages
Unto her but dross,
Standing, as she stood for ages,
By the Cross.
At the birth or grave,
When the hours are starved and sterile,
There is woman brave;
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When we suffer ill,
Lovely at the loveless portal,
There is woman still;
Heedless of the wounds, or wages
Unto her but dross,
Standing, as she stood for ages,
By the Cross.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |