Yield not to wild dispaih;
Press on and give no quartah,
In battle all is faih;
We’ll win for we had orteh.
Chorus.—Press onward, do not feah, sistehs,
Press onward do not feah,
Remembeh wimmen’s speah, sisters,
Remembeh wimmen’s speah.
“Wall,” says I in a encouragin’ tone, “that haint much different from the piece she printid a week or two ago, that was about woman’s spear.”
“It is that spear that is a goin’ to destroy me,” says he mournfully,