 | Rhymes of our planet |  |
21
A WORKING WOMAN
Upon a silken couch she lies,
In cold and splendid rest;
The coffin-sleep is in her eyes,
The lilies on her breast.
In cold and splendid rest;
The coffin-sleep is in her eyes,
The lilies on her breast.
No trace of toil this solemn light
Permits a glance to see;
Her folded hands are trim and white
As waxen flowers could be.
Permits a glance to see;
Her folded hands are trim and white
As waxen flowers could be.
The jewels' graceful golden stems
Have blossomed in her hair;
A gleaming casket full of gems
Was found for her to wear.
Have blossomed in her hair;
A gleaming casket full of gems
Was found for her to wear.
The wealth for which another strives
Obeyed her softest breath;
Enough to feed a hundred lives
Adorns the bed of death.
Obeyed her softest breath;
Enough to feed a hundred lives
Adorns the bed of death.
22
But, Toiler, not with frowning gaze
The stately hearse pursue;
Though reared in dainty words and ways,
This one was one of you.
The stately hearse pursue;
Though reared in dainty words and ways,
This one was one of you.
She toiled, through mingled night and day,
'Mid careless praise and scorn,
To walk erect the lofty way
In which her life was born.
'Mid careless praise and scorn,
To walk erect the lofty way
In which her life was born.
She toiled, with Honor throned above,
And Duty at her side,
To recompense a mother's love
And feed a father's pride.
And Duty at her side,
To recompense a mother's love
And feed a father's pride.
She toiled, as round her thrilling form
The reckless passions stood,
To scathless keep, through sun and storm,
God's smile, true womanhood.
The reckless passions stood,
To scathless keep, through sun and storm,
God's smile, true womanhood.
She toiled to reap, as faithful wife,
The harvest Love had sown,
And draw to her another life,
And bend to it her own.
The harvest Love had sown,
And draw to her another life,
And bend to it her own.
25
She toiled that all the childhood-blooms
Thrown to her from on high,
Might some day shed their sweet perfumes
In gardens of the sky.
Thrown to her from on high,
Might some day shed their sweet perfumes
In gardens of the sky.
She toiled to kindle Comfort's flame
In garrets of distress;
And oft to gloomy haunts she came,
That sorrow might be less.
In garrets of distress;
And oft to gloomy haunts she came,
That sorrow might be less.
She toiled for you, O toiling one,
And all hearts here below—
An hundred thousand ways that none
But God may ever know.
And all hearts here below—
An hundred thousand ways that none
But God may ever know.
So to entwine the hearts of worth
Be these true words the strands:
Not all the labor of the earth
Is done by hardened hands.
Be these true words the strands:
Not all the labor of the earth
Is done by hardened hands.
| Rhymes of our planet | |