Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/A Wife's Appeal to her Husband

A Wife's Appeal to Her Husband.

You took me, Henry, when a girl, into your home and heart,To bear in all your after-fate a fond and faithful part;And tell me, have I ever tried that duty to forego,Or pined there was not joy for me when you were sunk in woe?

No, I would rather share your grief than other people's glee;For though you're nothing to the world, you're all the world to me.You make a palace of my shed, this rough-hewn bench a throne,There's sunlight for me in your smile, and music in your tone.

I look upon you when you sleep—my eyes with tears grow dim;I cry, "O! Parent of the poor, look down from heaven on him!Behold him toil, from day to day, exhausting strength and soul,Look down in mercy on him, Lord, for Thou canst make him whole!"

And when at last relieving sleep has on my eyelids smiled,How oft are they forbid to close in slumber by my child!I take the little murmurer that spoils my span of rest,And feel it as a part of thee I hold upon my breast.

There's only one return I crave—I may not need it long—And it may soothe thee when I'm where the wretched feel no wrong;I ask not for a kinder tone, for thou wert ever kind;I ask not for less frugal fare—my fare I do not mind.

I ask not for more gay attire—if such as I have gotSuffice to make me fair to thee, for more I murmur not;But I would ask some share of hours that you in toil bestow;Of knowledge, that you prize so much, may I not something know?

Subtract from meetings amongst men each eve an hour for me:Make me companion for your soul, as I may surely be;If you will read, I'll sit and work; then think, when you're away,Less tedious I shall find the time, dear Henry, of your stay.

A meet companion soon I'll be for e'en your studious hours,And teacher of those little ones you call your cottage flowers:And if we be not rich and great, we may be wise and kind;And as my heart can warm your heart, so may my mind your mind!