Woman in the garden Where the angels came; Nothing yet of pardon, Nothing yet of shame; Seraphs in her honour To the gates repair,— O, the sun upon her! O, the golden air! @3Woman in the green ways,— Young roots are sweet; In and out the glean-ways, Brown nuts at feet; Planting, weaving, hoarding, Saving from the wild, Not for self or lording, But for us — the child.@1 Woman in the tower; Moat and wall to guard, The rare, white lady-flower Blooming for her lord, Whose bright sword has won her From all knights that ride; His to serve and honour,— An unfading bride! @3Woman 'neath the master Of the feudal day; For the bread he cast her Paying life away To him, the mighty giver, Him, her soul and god! A sword for who would save her, And for her the rod!@1 Now by fireside singing! Here at last is home; Over ages winging Again the angels come. Holy love and human In her worship rise. O, the light on woman Shed from children's eyes! @3To the factories feeding Hands and soul and will; Herded, and unheeding She is woman still. Trembling home in gloom light, Home — O mock of breath! In her eyes the loom-blight, In her shadow, death!@1 Sons must pass to battle; Armour them with prayers; Never conflict's rattle Reach thy straining ears; In the home they've made thee, Mother, sit thee down; With their love they'll shade thee, With their fortune crown! @3Be it or here or yonder, Where'er thy children cry, Fas as thy fairest wander, Far as thy dearest die,— Be thine the heart that fareth Past every dim frontier, Till who the last rood dareth Shall find a mother there!@1 |