The Husband must enter The hostile life, With struggle and strife, To plant or to watch, To snare or to snatch, To pray and importune, Must wager and venture And hunt down his fortune! Then flows in a current the gear and the gain, And the garners are fill'd with the gold of the grain, Now a yard to the court, now a wing to the centre! Within sits Another, The thrifty Housewife; The mild one, the mother-- Her home is her life. In its circle she rules, And the daughters she schools, And she cautions the boys, With a bustling command, And a diligent hand Employ'd she employs; Gives order to store, And the much makes the more; Locks the chest and the wardrobe, with lavender smelling, And the hum of the spindle goes quick through the dwelling; And she hoards in the presses, well polish'd and full, The snow of the linen, the shine of the wool; Blends the sweet with the good, and from care and endeavour Rests never! Blithe the Master (where the while From his roof he sees them smile) Eyes the lands, and counts the gain; There, the beams projecting far, And the laden store-house are, And the granaries bow'd beneath The blessings of the golden grain; There, in undulating motion, Wave the corn-fields like an ocean. Proud the boast the proud lips breathe:-- "My house is built upon a rock, And sees unmoved the stormy shock Of waves that fret below!" What chain so strong, what girth so great, To bind the giant form of Fate?-- Swift are the steps of Woe. * * * * * Now the casting may begin; See the breach indented there: Ere we run the fusion in, Halt--and speed the pious prayer! Pull the bung out-- See around and about What vapour, what vapour--God help us!--has risen?-- Ha! the flame like a torrent leaps forth from its prison!