Then she said: “If you had heard me yestereve, I’m sure, my friend,
You would say I am a champion who knows how to defend.”
And she left me with a feeling—most unpleasant, I aver—
That the whole world would despise me if it hadn’t been for her.
Whenever I encounter her, in such a nameless way
She gives me the impression I am at my worst that day;
And the hat that was imported (and that cost me half a sonnet)
With just one glance from her round eyes becomes a Bowery bonnet.
She is always bright and smiling, sharp and shining for a thrust;
Use does not seem to blunt her point, nor does she gather rust.
Oh! I wish some hapless specimen of mankind would begin
To tidy up the world for me, by picking up this pin.
THE COMING MAN
Oh! not for the great departed,
Who formed our country’s laws,
And not for the bravest-hearted,
Who died in freedom’s cause,
And not for some living hero
To whom all bend the knee,
My muse would raise her song of praise—
But for the man to be.
For out of the strife which woman
Is passing through to-day,
A man that is more than human
Shall yet be born, I say.
A man in whose pure spirit
No dross of self will lurk;
A man who is strong to cope with wrong,
A man who is proud to work.
A man with hope undaunted,
A man with godlike power,
Shall come when he most is wanted,
Shall come at the needed hour.
He shall silence the din and clamour
Of clan disputing with clan,
And toil’s long fight with purse-proud might
Shall triumph through this man.
I know he is coming, coming,
To help, to guide, to save.
Though I hear no martial drumming,
And see no flags that wave.
But the great soul travail of woman,
And the bold free thought unfurled,
Are heralds that say he is on the way—
The coming man of the world.
Mourn not for vanished ages,
With their great heroic men,
Who dwell in history’s pages
And live in the poet’s pen.
For the grandest times are before us,
And the world is yet to see
The noblest worth of this old earth
In the men that are to be.