THE PREACHER'S WIFE by EFFIE WALLER SMITH

God bless his wife, the preacher's wife,
Wherever she may be;
A cheerful joy, a comfort and
A blessing, all is she.

Whether from humble cottage, or
From mansion great and grand,
Where ease and luxury she left
To travel o'er the land,

With him, her Christlike husband,
Who doth labor for the cause,
And faithfully doth bear aloft
The banner of the Cross.

In village and in town is he,
And on the hill and plain,
Through forests vast, through swollen streams,
He goes in sun and rain.

Oft persecuted, oft despised,
His fare is rough and hard,
But God he seeks to please, not man,
In God is his reward.

And tho' it may not be the lot
Of her, the preacher's wife,
To mingle as her husband does
In ruder ways of life,

But hers it is to visit and
Cherish the sick and weak;
And nurse them in affliction's hour
And words of comfort speak.

And other's burdens nobly bear,
The sorrowing hearts to soothe,
And with affection's loving hand
The dying pillows smooth;

And in the Sabbath school repeat
The story's oft been told;
And lovingly and gently lead
The lambs to Jesus's fold.

What tho' her life may trials have,
Her pathway checkered be,
Will not a golden crown of life
Be giv'n to such as she?

Far, far away from childhood's home,
'Mongst other scenes and skies,
These pure and unfamed women live,
And for their Master die.

All over our dear land to-day
Are graves where rest their dust;
With their work done they dreamless wait,
The Rising of the just.

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