 | Thoughts in Verse |  |
37
BANGS.
Give me a woman, true and fair,
With too much sense to “bang” her hair.
A woman who can make good bread;
And not ashamed of high forehead.
A lovely woman—true and fair,
With too much sense to “bang” her hair.
With too much sense to “bang” her hair.
A woman who can make good bread;
And not ashamed of high forehead.
A lovely woman—true and fair,
With too much sense to “bang” her hair.
A woman who can mend a shirt,
And ceases ne'er to war on dirt;
Who keeps the buttons on her shoes,
Nor stoops to a deceitful ruse;
Who dresses neat, with grace and care,
And knows too much to “bang” her hair.
And ceases ne'er to war on dirt;
Who keeps the buttons on her shoes,
Nor stoops to a deceitful ruse;
Who dresses neat, with grace and care,
And knows too much to “bang” her hair.
The good of others e'er in view;
A missionary spirit, too.
A Christian true, and apt to teach—
One who is not ashamed to preach
Against false modesty and glair,
And the silly mode of “banging” hair!
A missionary spirit, too.
A Christian true, and apt to teach—
One who is not ashamed to preach
Against false modesty and glair,
And the silly mode of “banging” hair!
A woman of intelligence,
Who can converse with elegance,
Decided taste for literature,—
Who sings with tones both sweet and pure.
Too reverent to sit in prayer—
And one who scorns to “bang” her hair.
Who can converse with elegance,
Decided taste for literature,—
Who sings with tones both sweet and pure.
Too reverent to sit in prayer—
And one who scorns to “bang” her hair.
The Chimpanzee in Afric land,
For years has worn a little band
Of hair, upon his forehead low,
And smirks insipidly, you know;
A “bang” the Shetland pony wears,
But ladies ne'er should “bang” their hair.
For years has worn a little band
Of hair, upon his forehead low,
And smirks insipidly, you know;
38
But ladies ne'er should “bang” their hair.
A temple fair, of thought, God made
The forehead! There His truth conveyed;
But Satan's scheme did “bangs” invent,
To set at naught God's wise intent.
To foil his purpose, now, declare—
I'll never, never, “bang” my hair!
The forehead! There His truth conveyed;
But Satan's scheme did “bangs” invent,
To set at naught God's wise intent.
To foil his purpose, now, declare—
I'll never, never, “bang” my hair!
| Thoughts in Verse | |