By Martha Waldron Blacker
Oh, strong and brave the heart may be,
To bear the heavy woes of life;
It fails most oft at petty ills,
With which each passing day is rife.
We gird ourselves with armor strong,
To meet some mighty wrong or ill;
Proudly defy the threatened harm,
And, conquering, boast the power of will.
Anon, a trifle light as air,
A careless word,—a look,— a tone,—
Makes shipwreck of our boasted power;
Endurance, strength, alike are gone.