By this we hold: No man is wholly great, Or wise, or just, or good,
Who will not dare his all to reinstate Earth's trampled womanhood.
No Seer sees truly, save as he discerns Her crowned, coequal right;
No lover loves divinely, till he burns Against her foes to fight.
That Church is fallen prone as Lucifer ; God’s bolts that hath not hurled
Against the Tyrants who have outraged her, The Priestess of the world.
That Press, whose minions, slavish and unjust. Bid her in fetters die,
Toils, in the base behalf of Pride and Lust, To consecrate a lie.
“ Once it was Christ, whom Judas with a kiss Betrayed,” the Spirit saith :
“ But now, ’tis Woman’s heart, inspired by his, That man consigns to death.”
Each village hath its martyrs—every street Some house that is a hell;
Some woman's heart, celestial, pure, and sweet, Breaks with each passing bell.
There are deep wrongs, too infinite for words, Man dare not have revealed ;
And, in our midst, insane, barbaric, hordes Who make the Law their Shield.
Rise then, O Woman; grasp the mighty pen, By inspiration driven ;
Scatter the sophistries of cruel men, With voices fresh from Heaven.
Man, smiting thee, moves on from war to war; All rights with thine decease.
Rise, 'throned with Christ, in His pure morning star And charm the world to Peace,
