THE BROKEN REED.
Reading edition
———
BY S. S. HORNOR.
———
Many a maiden, if she knew
The sorrows of an injured wife,
Would robe herself in sable hue
When entering on married life.
Oh, man! be careful how you deal
With one so tender and so pure;
Remember that a wife can feel
A wound for which there is no cure.
Like to the fond, confiding dove,
Howe’er so gay and blithe before,
Repel the promptings of her love,
Her spirits sink to rise no more.
Teach her but that she loves in vain
And life becomes a worthless part;
The streams of love rush back again
And choke the fountains of the heart.
Though she may flourish for awhile,
The counterfeit of what she’s been.
The secret sadness of her smile
Tells, but too plainly, death’s within.
’Twere better she were never born
Than feel the shaft of anger dealt;
The deep contempt, the bitter scorn,
That many a suff’ring wife has felt.
Remember you’re her only stay;
And every slight and insult shown
Will fester unto deep decay,
Until the grave shall claim its own.
Then, with affection trifle not,
Nor smite the breast you should protect,
Lest mem’ry sad should haunt the spot,
Where lies the victim of neglect.