To women

Not theirs, perhaps to labour and to fight
Not theirs the battle and the dust
But theirs the vigils in the dreary night
The tears and sorrows of their trust

Not theirs to change the world but make the men
And to embue them with a sense of right
Theirs to teach and train in honours pathway
Theirs to point out the way into the light

A virtuous women’s like a lily
Blooming in a garden rank with weeds
Her fragrance lingers after she has faded
And other souls are strengthened by her deeds