Page:Not understood - and other poems (IA notunderstoodoth00braciala).pdf/52

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Peer and peasant, young and old,
    Slaves of poverty and pride.
  Ah! her heart is true as gold,
    And her love is deep and wide.

  Harp of mine! again, again
    Warm pulsations fondly stray
  O’er thy cords—whilst wind and rain
    ’Gainst the windows sing and say:
  “Woman’s heart is false and vain,
    Lovers’ vows are light as spray,
  Faithless maid and foolish swain,
    True love lives in clay to clay.”

        Then sing with me,
        Right merrily,
The praises of our Mother kind;
        Her heart is pure,
        Her love is sure,
To all our faults and follies blind.
        She gives us rest
        Upon her breast,
And these poor mortal shells of ours
        She purifies,
        And we arise
To live again in buds and flowers.
        Then sing with me
        A song of glee,
My soul is filled with wildest mirth;
        ’Tis just the time
        To chant and chime
The praise of our old Mother Earth.