Motherhood is priced Of God, at price no man may dare To lessen or misunderstand.
By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer.
O sweet, delusive Noon, Which the morning climbs to find, O moment sped too soon, And morning left behind.
O month when they who love must love and wed.
If I can do one hundredth part for the Indian that Mrs. Stowe did for the Negro, I will be thankful.