An Appeal To My Countrywomen Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABCB ADAD AEFE AGAG HIHI JKHK LFFF AMHM NGOP QFRF QSAS NTUT VFTF WXSY

You can sigh o'er the sad eyed ArmenianA
Who weeps in her desolate homeB
You can mourn o'er the exile of RussiaC
From kindred and friends doomed to roamB
-
You can pity the men who have wovenA
From passion and appetite chainsD
To coil with a terrible tensionA
Around their heartstrings and brainsD
-
You can sorrow o'er little childrenA
Disinherited from their birthE
The wee waifs and toddlers neglectedF
Robbed of sunshine music and mirthE
-
For beasts you have gentle compassionA
Your mercy and pity they shareG
For the wretched outcast and fallenA
You have tenderness love and careG
-
But hark from our Southland are floatingH
Sobs of anguish murmurs of painI
And women heart stricken are weepingH
Over their tortured and their slainI
-
On their brows the sun has left tracesJ
Shrink not from their sorrow in scornK
When they entered the threshold of beingH
The children of a King were bornK
-
Each comes as a guest to the tableL
The hand of our God has outspreadF
To fountains that ever leap upwardF
To share in the soil we all treadF
-
When ye plead for the wrecked and fallenA
The exile from far distant shoresM
Remember that men are still wastingH
Life's crimson around your own doorsM
-
Have ye not oh my favored sistersN
Just a plea a prayer or a tearG
For mothers who dwell 'neath the shadowsO
Of agony hatred and fearP
-
Men may tread down the poor and lowlyQ
May crush them in anger and hateF
But surely the mills of God's justiceR
Will grind out the grist of their fateF
-
Oh people sin laden and guiltyQ
So lusty and proud in your primeS
The sharp sickles of God's retributionA
Will gather your harvest of crimeS
-
Weep not oh my well sheltered sistersN
Weep not for the Negro aloneT
But weep for your sons who must gatherU
The crops which their fathers have sownT
-
Go read on the tombstones of nationsV
Of chieftains who masterful trodF
The sentence which time has engravenT
That they had forgotten their GodF
-
'Tis the judgment of God that men reapW
The tares which in madness they sowX
Sorrow follows the footsteps of crimeS
And Sin is the consort of WoeY

Frances E. W. Harper



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