page 27

Woman's Rights.

Wild the wintry winds were raging,
And the rain fell most severe;
Still the fire kept warm and cosy,
And my babes were playing near.

Slowly crouching by our window,
Passed a thing in woman's form;
Used to life—long degradation,
Trampled like her sister worm.

With her bare feet, worn and weary,
And her garments torn and thin;
While her back was bowed down sorely,
With a load of hawker's tin.

Why in this, the land of freedom,
Boasted free as ocean wave;
Why should woman look on woman,
And behold her born a slave.

It would be a grander mission—
Much more glorious by far,
Than our schemes for burning India,
Or benighted Calabar—

If the charity that searches,
Far for objects ere they come,
Would but strive to clear its own eyes,
By beginning first at home.

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In the hard oft-trodden pathways,
Through life's weary pilgrimage:
We should teach our fellow-traveller,
How to rest at every stage.

Though our heartless priests and Levites,
On the other side pass by;
Let us like Him of Samaria,
Up and help them ere they die.

When our blessed Master wandered
Through this sinful earth below,
Came—forced by vile foes before him,
Marked by deepest guilt and woe—

A poor woman, weak, and heart-sore,
Charged with crimes of darkest die;
While the clamorous crowd like madmen,
Rav'd with voices loud and high.

And their cry was, stone her, stone her—
Stone the shameless and accurst;
But the Just One answered gently,
Let the sinless throw the first.

With His judgments, mercy ever
Goes united hand in hand;
Let us then with firm endeavour,
Seek the lost ones of our land.

While with open arms the Shepherd
Still is waiting to receive;
page 29 Mong'st the highways and the hedges,
Let our cry be, "Turn and live."

Yet within our little city,
Some there are whose frowning brow,
Wears the self-approving saying,—
"I am holier than thou."

Midst the glorified in Heaven,
Will the saintly bosom shrink,
When its white robes come in contact
With the rescued from Hell's brink?

No; each selfish angry passion,
Caused by sin and death shall cease;
Nought can enter that defileth,
There is still eternal peace.

With the good land still before us,
Ere we reach the river's brink;
Brethren, heirs of life immortal,
Sisters, let us pause and think.

Let us lead our suffering sisters,
In the pleasant pathways too;
Though possessing but one talent,
Women, let us up and do.

Let us on their hearts' deep bruises,
Pour in gently oil and wine;
What but God's grace makes the difference,
'Twixt their lot and yours and mine.