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All toil and care for you a mighty debt,
And to the utmost, the full score would pay!

  Yes, woman! Though oft-times to thee 'tis given
Thy heart-kept hopes, at duty's call, to yield
All cheerfully; for God and those that else
Were left forlorn and loveless, thine to make
The lot of those who nobly much resign;
Though thy life's course be like a modest stream
That through the vale in grateful coolness winds,
And hidden half, with tree and bush o'erhung,
Freshness exhales e'en when itself unseen;
Though Providence, or thine own choice, deny
The household throne and dear connubial bliss,
Yet beautiful and blest thy life may be;
Rich in self-culture, and each grace and charm
Of mind, or manners, loveliest in all eyes;
And filled with deeds that the recording pen
Shall chronicle in heaven. The world yet teems
With griefs and groans; with pierced and bleeding hearts,