Poems (Markham)/Woman

by Elizabeth Markham

For works with similar titles, see Woman.

Woman Written for amusement and handed to the Spectator only by especial request.

No light that shines in yonder skyCan cheer the soul like woman's eye;No depth of seas, no shifting sandsContain in them such wealth for man.

Nor earth can with her mines impartNo purer gold than woman's heart;The orphan boy by her is fed,She lingers round the dying bed.

And man while sinking to the tomb,She cheers him on through death's dark gloom;By her unfeigned and gentle love,She makes the dying pillow smooth.

And with her hands and tender care,She forms the shroud for him to wear;And with her sweet consoling voiceShe makes the sorrowing heart rejoice.

With sleepless eye and noiseless tread,She guards the nursling's cradle bed;And woman's love is a holy light,Time cannot dim its radiance bright.

Distance nor dangers, threatening, smart,Cool the affections of her heart;She visits where the prisoners dwell,In their low, damp and darkened cell.

Kneels at their couch, with streaming eyePoints them to mansions up on high;The scene on Calvary she explains,The dying thief's repenting strains.

The bleeding Lamb, the glittering spear,And Roman soldiers hovering near;The crown of thorns in mockery madeAnd placed upon his kingly head,

His acts of love, his dying breathWhile in the agonies of death,Cries to the thief, thy soul shall beThis day in paradise with me.

Yes! Woman's love is a holy light,Time cannot dim its radiance bright;A brilliant star that God has given,To lead man's erring feet to Heaven.

In every age since time began,Her chastity unrivalled stands;And virtue's reins she will control,Till stars and planets cease to roll.E. M.Oregon Spectator, March 21, 1850.