WOMAN.

By Mrs. NoRToy.
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"And be not thou cast down, because thy lot
The glory of thy dream resembIeth not
Not for herself was Woman create,
Nor vet to be Mans idol, but his mate
Still from his birth his brade bed she tends,
The first, the last, the iaithulest of friends;
Still finds her place in sickness or in woe,
Humble to comfort, strong to undergo
Still in the depth Of weeping sorrow tries
To watch his death-bed with her patient


eyes!


And doubt not although at times de-


ceived,


Outraged, insulted, slander'd, crush'd and


grieved,


Too often made victim or toy,
With years of sorrow for an hour of joy;
Too oft forgot midst Pleasures circling


wiles,


Or only valued for her rosy smiles
That, in the frank and generous heart of


Man,
The place she holds accords with Heavens


high plan;
Still, If from wandering sin reclaimed at all,
He sees in her the angel of recall