You say that your life is shadowed
With grief and sorrow and pain,
That you never can borrow a happy to-morrow
And the future holds little of gain.
That a woman’s life is but folly
Scarce aught she may cheerfully do;
You think of your fate not with love but with hate,
And wish that your days may be few.
You long with a bitter longing
To enter the battle of life,
To strike some sure blow as onward you go
To soften its warfare and strife.
You hate to be idly waiting
As the years are drifting by,
A chance to be doing while duty pursuing
And the years so swiftly fly.
Nay, a woman’s life is the noblest
That ever Old Time looked on,
Her lot both the rarest and fairest
That ever the sun shone on.
Both dearer and sweeter and fairer
Than any in all of this earth,
So full of its din of sorrow and sin
Scarce feel we its cheer or its mirth.
Think oft of the hearts you may gladden,
The tears you may soon chase away,
The many kind deeds that the wanderer needs
To keep him from going astray.
Think oft of the mite of the widow,
The cup of cold water given,
The love and faith mild of the little child
That gaineth a seat in heaven.
Have you thought of the sweet box of ointment
That Mary the Magdalene shed,
In its fragrance and beauty for love and not duty,
Then wiped with the hair of her head?
Have you thought of the smile and the hand-clasp
That met you some weary day,
That warmed you and fed you and hopefully led you
To a safe and surer way?
Dear friend, when you faint by the wayside
Oh think of these little things,
Then comfort the weary, the sad and the dreary
And time will pass swift on its wings.
Let hope comfort, encourage and cheer you
And help you to bravely say,
Not idly repining, but working and striving,
Not hiding my talent away.
Then think not your lot has been hampered
Or shadowed by grief or pain,
But up and adoing, still duty pursuing,
The crown you surely must gain.