In the broad rich furrows by woman turned
   Man, unwitting, set plough and harrow. 
For worlds to conquer she had not yearned,
   Till he spoke of her feminine sphere as ‘narrow.’ 
The lullaby changed to a martial strain —
   When he took her travail, and song for granted —
And forth she forged in his own domain —
   Till the strange ‘new woman,’ the old supplanted.

‘Strange’ with the glow of a wakened soul,
   And ‘new’ with the purpose of large endeavour,
She turned her face to the higher goal —
   To the higher goal it is turned for ever. 
Trade and science and craft and art,
   Have opened their doors to the call of woman;
And greater she grows in her greater part,
   More tenderly wise, and more sweetly human.

Brave foremothers of freedom’s birth
   Smile through space on your splendid daughters. 
At one with liberty lighting the earth,
   Their torches flame o’er the darkest waters. 
They lend a lustre to sea and land: 
   They sweeten the world with their wholesome graces: 
As out in the harbour of life they stand
   To cheer and welcome the coming races.

Brave forefathers and heroes who fought
   Under the flag of the Revolution,
War was the price of the freedom you bought,
   But peace is the watchword of Evolution. 
The progress of woman means progress of peace,
   She wars on war, and its hosts alarming;
And her great love battle will never cease,
   Till the glory is seen of a world disarming.

The woman wonder with heart of flame,
   The coming man of the race will find her. 
For petty purpose and narrow aim,
   And fault and flaw she will leave behind her. 
He grown tender, and she grown wise,
   They shall enter the Eden by both created;
The broadened kingdom of Paradise,
   And love, and mate, as the first pair mated.

BATTLE HYMN OF THE WOMEN

They are waking, they are waking,
   In the east, and in the west;
They are throwing wide their windows to the sun;
And they see the dawn is breaking,
   And they quiver with unrest,
For they know their work is waiting to be done.

They are waking in the city,
   They are waking on the farm;
They are waking in the boudoir, and the mill;
And their hearts are full of pity
   As they sound the loud alarm,
For the sleepers, who in darkness, slumber, still.

In the guarded harem prison,
   Where they smother under veils,
And all echoes of the world are walled away;
Though the sun has not yet risen,
   Yet the ancient darkness pales,
And the sleepers, in their slumber, dream of day.

And their dream shall grow in splendour
   Till each sleeper wakes, and stirs;
Till she breaks from old traditions, and is free;
And the world shall rise, and render
   Unto woman what is hers,
As it welcomes in the race that is to be.