The North Carolina Standard

POETRY

O Woman! unto thee my thoughts aye tend,
To thee, the fairest creature in creation
Ever the falsest foe; firmest friend;
Our greatest grief, our sweetest consolation.
Tyrant and slave together in thee blend,

And still thou art our proudest exultation;
I loath, yet love thee from my inmost soul,
And spurning thee, I bow to thy control.

Thou epitome of antithesis!
Thou Pandora! messenger of woe!
Full fraught with evils, yet bespeaking bliss,
Thy heart's the casket, whence those evils flow;
Thy lips the lid; let feeling urge amiss,
Or rouse thy passion to a fervent glow,
'Tis open'd, and unnumber'd mischiefs flee—
But Hope, the Syren, stays and lures to thee.

O, I do know how soothing 'tis to feel
A mother's hand passed o'er my aching head;
To see a sister bend o'er me, or kneel,
"A ministering angel," by my restless bed;
With anxious looks inquiring of my weal;
The very flutter of her gown—her tread—
Comes like sweet music, calming me to rest;
And I have wept to think I was so blest.

Tho' man has basely squander'd a fair fame,
Though he hath acted sin's most damning part
The mother still thro' crime, reproach and shame,
Will keep him garner'd in her heart of heart?
The sister's love still cherishes his name,
Though he hath riy'd affection's ties apart;
And Oh! through each vicissitude of life,
How fondly to the husband clings the wife.

O Woman! ingrate man in vain may try
To pay the myriad debts that are thy due;
E'en though he drain his heart's exchequer dry.
And make his very soul a bankrupt too;
Thy drafts upon his love unhonor'd lie;
His utmost reach of years are all too few
To cancel half the gifts that thou hast given;
His every joy on earth—his hope in heaven.

G.