I0 
TO MRS O . . . . . . N  C . . . T 
 
And since some fall in Life’s tremendous storm, 
And you are on your feet, 
Were it not better with a bosom warm 
And accents sweet 
 
To help to raise (and no man will upbraid you) 
Your sisters fallen far ? 
’ Tis vain !  God’s worst omission—Heart—has made you 
The thing you are !