Delaware Republican. (Wilmington, Del.) 1843-1874, 1873-12-15
THE SILv Err LINING.

nett Sqiare.l
THE SILv Err LINING.
We all have seen on a summer day,
With the sun at inter"als shining,
The wind puff up some grim clouds skirt,
Revealing II siyer lining.
Aud poets, seeing, have smiled and coined
This motto sweet, though golden:
"There's silver lining 10 every cloud"
Indeed, ofttmes golden.
The task set myself to-day,
Perhaps may not get through it,
Is to try to tuin up the lem Of this cloud
"Poor oriirpers' wves," eau do 1t?
The papers all say we are sore oppressed,
That we're thin and scrawny and worn,
That we toll and noil from morning till
night,
Like slaves 10 seIvitule born.
That we bend 50 close TO tie cooking stove,
So constantly WELD the boom,
That we cannot see the beautiful woods,
Or the fragrant flowers tLat bloom;
We have not minute to call our own,
No leisure to read or write;
That we run our feet lle live o 'g day
And the sewing machine by night.
They say our husbands ride around,
Dressed up 80 sleek and neat,
With how do here and howdo there,
And IA chat with all they meet;
While at home we are scratching and scrub
bling,
Aud tending the human flowers,
And nursing regretful longngs
For the love that once was ours.
Indeed TO recount the half of our ills,
As summed up by the dabbers in ink,
Would require pile OF foolscap
Distressingy high, think.
But there s one thing more must mention,
Tbs the most outrageous Of any
We do all the Work, we strive and We save,
And Tie men get all the money.
They think the fitch, Tho butter and eggs,
Sufficient for family expenses;
Hs wants fine stock and fancy horse,
So the poor wife she retire iches,
She wears the same old fishonad dress
That she wore when her chains were
welded,
But Ii matter liitle-slie stays al home,
Her earthly cares are ended. ...l
NDw like to be pitied If am distressed,
And avenged III AIN aggrieyed,
But when editors spin such yarns as these
They oughiened to be believed,
lf they'd leave their city offices,
Take peep round now and then,
They might te, sons women wi Q are not
slaves, -
Some farmers who ar men.
We are no queens TO dleness born,
But daughters Of busy mothers,
The wives and sisters Of those who work,
And honest handed brothers;
Nobody sits weeping aud and wailing, that
they
Must work through the summer heat,
Aud we need no pity because tis our lot
To get something to eat.
Nay, rather is she to be enyied,
Tho happy wife and mother,
As with loving care she spreads tn meal
For husband, son, or brother.
For much "f this wnrld's happiness
Depends Oh The food We eal,--
A poet fed on sour bread.
Could surely writa nothing sweet
Look at the beautiful hswers that glace
Almost each farmers home;
l he trav ler's eye res's On I'll ,r sweets
Where'er his footsteps roam.
Whose hands have nursed these buds and
called
Their beauty into birth?
The wife she who has power to make
heaven upon eai tn.
And when our farmer goes travelling
abroad
On trip Of excursion or tour,
What well dressed lady sitssniling by him?
Oh, that is his wife To be sure.
Good books are upon the tables at home,
Choice pictures hana, on thu wall,
While from cultured daughters tuneful
lips
Sweet strains Of music fail.
We have our trials and troubles, ol course,
And any life under the sun,
That has nothing to try tho stuff in us
Is an empty and useless one
But think, Jumping all together,
More haDDy. cOnLeutpu liyns
Than with almost any other
Are found among farmers, wivoa