Pictures, Quotes, and beautiful things that portray the joys of Maidenhood
Where the Daughters Are True
Where the daughters are true, where the daughters are strong,
There will the country have lessened it's wrong.
Where the daughters are noble and gentle and pure,
God will open for them many a door.
When the daughters are content and act obediently,
Then will you know how God meant daughters to be.
When the daughters are petty, concerned with their looks,
if they almost forget the most Beautiful of Books,
When they think they can be "just like a man",
and they dream about all of their future job plans,
When they neglect their responsibilities, take on
The different duties God set for a man
Then a true family can't remain alive,
God's judgement on the country will soon arrive,
And the country those daughters poison will not long survive.
May we always be noble and gentle and true,
May we always obey as good daughters should do.
May we never allow foolish dreams about boys,
but always content ourselves with daughterhood joys.
May we always be strong, kind, pure, and patient,
May we always be humble and always content,
That when we have our our daughters to train and to teach,
Our example--and theirs--may other daughters reach.
We expected to see in Miss Berry another vulgarian produced, but to our surprise, we beheld one who seemed of a different order of beings from those by whom she was surrounded. Lord Mowbray and I looked at each other, struck by the same sentiment, pained for this elegant timid young creature, as we saw her, all blushing and reluctant, forced by the irresistible fat orderer of all things to "step up on the seat," to step forward from bench to bench, and then wait in painful pre-eminence while Issy, and Cecy, and Queeney, and Miss Coates, settled how they could make room, or which should vacate their seat in her favor. In spite of the awkwardness of her situation she stood with such quiet, resigned, yet dignified grace, that ridicule could not touch her. The moment she was seated with her back to us, and out of hearing, Lady de Brantefield turned to her son and asked, "Who is she?"
...Harrington, by Maria Edgeworth