Afore the awfu’ deluge, freens,
True inspirashin’s pen
States weemin o’ that misty age
Wur juist dauchters o’ men.

But iver frae the earth got wash’d,
Accordin’ tae some yins,
Al’ men ir naethin’ no ava
Only guid weemin’s sons.

Hooiver be that as it may,
This much A wish tae state,
A woman, worthy guid or bad,
Is very hard tae bate.

A hope, like the Barean’s guid,
That as we pass alang,
We’ll daily search the Scriptures true
Tae save us goin’ wrang.

This womin comes upon the scene,
As Abraham’s fair wife,
Wha’s beauty an’ deception micht
Hae cost mony a life.

Fur years an’ years hir life wuz blank
An’ awfu’ hard tae bear;
Beca’s she thocht she wuz despised;
Hir heart grew sick an’ sair.

So lang efter that time o’life,
Though skepticks aften stare,
An’ that she sed she did nae laugh
God heard an’ answer’d prayer.

A happy mother she became,
Which ment Hagar tae wa’k;
Beca’s hir laddie Ishmael
Had gien some “mockin” ta’k

In Hebron Sarah pass’d awa
Fu’ o’ bricht hope an’ years,
An’ in a cave wuz laid tae rest,
Whar at fell mony tears.

She shines in that fine roll fur faith
Fram’d bae the great St. Pal’;
Dear sisters, follow in hir steps,
A pray you yin an’ al’.

A.LF. 10th January 1916

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