Poems of Experience | Page 3

joyfully into her
place she went -
The primal mate, and the primal mother.
Large was that kingdom and vast her sphere,
And lightly she lifted and bore each burden.
Lightly she laughed in
the eyes of fear,
For love was her recompense, love her guerdon.
And never in camp,
or in cave, or in home,

Rose voice of mother or mate complaining.
And never the foot of her
sought to roam,
Till love in the heart of the man seemed waning.
In the broad rich furrows by woman turned
Man, unwitting, set plough and harrow.
For worlds to conquer she
had not yearned,
Till he spoke of her feminine sphere as 'narrow.'
The lullaby changed
to a martial strain -
When he took her travail, and song for granted -
And forth she forged
in his own domain -
Till the strange 'new woman,' the old supplanted.
'Strange' with the glow of a wakened soul,
And 'new' with the purpose of large endeavour,
She turned her face to
the higher goal -
To the higher goal it is turned for ever.
Trade and science and craft
and art,
Have opened their doors to the call of woman;
And greater she grows
in her greater part,
More tenderly wise, and more sweetly human.
Brave foremothers of freedom's birth
Smile through space on your splendid daughters.
At one with liberty
lighting the earth,
Their torches flame o'er the darkest waters.
They lend a lustre to sea
and land:

They sweeten the world with their wholesome graces:
As out in the
harbour of life they stand
To cheer and welcome the coming races.
Brave forefathers and heroes who fought
Under the flag of the Revolution,
War was the price of the freedom
you bought,
But PEACE is the watchword of Evolution.
The progress of woman
means progress of peace,
She wars on war, and its hosts alarming;
And her great love battle
will never cease,
Till the glory is seen of a world disarming.
The woman wonder with heart of flame,
The coming man of the race will find her.
For petty purpose and
narrow aim,
And fault and flaw she will leave behind her.
He grown tender, and
she grown wise,
They shall enter the Eden by both created;
The broadened kingdom of
Paradise,
And love, and mate, as the first pair mated.
BATTLE HYMN OF THE WOMEN
They are waking, they are waking,
In the east, and in the west;
They are throwing wide their windows to
the sun;
And they see the dawn is breaking,

And they quiver with unrest,
For they know their work is waiting to
be done.
They are waking in the city,
They are waking on the farm;
They are waking in the boudoir, and
the mill;
And their hearts are full of pity
As they sound the loud alarm,
For the sleepers, who in darkness,
slumber, still.
In the guarded harem prison,
Where they smother under veils,
And all echoes of the world are
walled away;
Though the sun has not yet risen,
Yet the ancient darkness pales,
And the sleepers, in their slumber,
dream of day.
And their dream shall grow in splendour
Till each sleeper wakes, and stirs;
Till she breaks from old traditions,
and is free;
And the world shall rise, and render
Unto woman what is hers,
As it welcomes in the race that is to be.
Unto woman, God the Maker
Gave the secret of His plan;
It is written out in cipher, on her soul;

From the darkness, you must take her,
To the light of day, O man!
Would you know the mighty meaning of
the scroll.
MEMORIES {1}
I am thinking of the Springtime
On the farm out in the West,
When

my world held nothing for me that I wanted,
(Save a courage all
undaunted),
And my foolish little rhymes,
Were but heart beats,
rung in chimes,
That I sounded, just to ease my life's unrest.
Yes, I
sang them, and I rang them,
Just to ease my youth's unrest.
When I heard the name of London,
In that early day, afar,
In that
Springtime of my Country over yonder,
Then I used to sit and wonder

If the day would come to me,
When my ship should cross the sea,

To the land that seemed as distant as a star.
In my dreaming, ever
gleaming
Like a distant unknown star.
Now in London in the Springtime,
I am sitting here, your guest.

Nay--I think it is a vision, or a fancy -
Part of dreamland Necromancy;

And I question: is it true
That the great warm hearts of you,

Heard the winging of that singing in the West,
Heard the chiming of
my rhyming
From the farmhouse in the West?
Let me linger in the fancy,
For the soul of me is stirred
As I dream
that I am sitting here among you;
And the songs that I have sung you

Shall grow stronger through the art
Of heart speaking unto heart,

Through the gladness of the singer who is heard
Lo! my songs have
crossed the ocean
But the voice of my emotion finds no word.
SEE?
If one proves weak who