Classic Poem

The scroll is open — many a name is written —
The ink is flowing from the lifted quill —
Say, is that lily hand with palsy smitten,
That it should disobey the writer's will?

Her free consent already has been given,
Why should she then thus hesitating stand?
Fears she the wrath of an offending Heaven,
Its righteous judgments on a guilty land?

No! — but that anger — should female christians fear it,
And from their holy purposes be swayed?
The world's dread laugh — they surely well may bear it,
Tho' " firm philosophers" may be dismayed.

What tho' they call us " Female Politicians,"
And many an ill-timed epithet bestow?
Shall they thus stem the tide of our petitions?
And shall we steel our hearts to human woe?

To woman is assigned her proper station,
To pluck life's thorn, and strew its path with flowers,
Exempted from the cares of legislation,
No Amazonian prowess should be ours.

Yet " moral courage" has been freely given,
By Him whose wisdom never yet has erred,
And shall we trample on this gift of Heaven,
For high and holy purposes conferred?

Ours be the " Duty," not the " Rights of woman,"
Knowing the strength of nature's dearest ties,
May we yet " prove that ours are feelings human,"
Holy affections, kindly sympathies.

Are we disheartened? Shall our footsteps, alter?
Lonely and weeping are we seen to stand,
Like Israel's priests, between the porch and altar,
Sad and dispirited, a fearful band?

No — perseverance yet may safely bear us
O'er opposition's overwhelming tide;
We still will trust that they may deign to hear us,
And our petitions may not be denied.

Oh! there is one tribunal, where we fear not,
Humbly to bend the knee in fervent prayer,
And, tho' earth's magnates our petitions hear not,
They shall ascend in blest acceptance there.

Then in each high and holy aspiration,
With frequent intercession let us pray,
That those foul sins which stigmatise our nation,
From her escutcheon may be washed away;

That Freedom's gift may yet to man be given,
That he, disfranchised, yet may walk abroad —
Each shackle broken, every fetter riven —
Erect and free, the image of his God.