 | Women must weep |  |
WOMAN.
Woman hath tender, loving hands,And between earth and heaven she stands,
A ministrant in mercies high,
To bring her native glories nigh,
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While she is God's interpreter:
Her life a loving fountain flows,
And as it gives it larger grows,
It beautifies the barren years
With precious seed of prayers and tears,
That hallow joy, and sweeten sorrows,
And round dark days with radiant morrows.
| Women must weep | |