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H THE SONG OF THE SHIItT. From Punch. With tinkers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman eat, in unwomanly raus, Plying her needle and thread — Stitch stitch stiteli In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the Song of the Shirt i" Woi? work', work'. W hile the cock is crowing aloof "Andwoik-work—work, Till the stars shine through the roof! It's 0 to he a slave > Along with the barbarous Turk, Where worn nr. has never a soul to save, tNt "If this is Christian work Work—work—work "Till the brain begins to swim Work—work—work )NN Till tlie eyes are heavy and dim tj,:am, all.! gusset, and hand, ".Baud, and gusset, and seam, Till ovpr the buttons I fall asleep, And saw them on in a dream tNj O men, with sisters clear "0 men, with mothers and wives 1 It is not linen you're wearing out, But human creatures' lives li Stitcli stiteli-stite"), In poverty, hunger, and dirt, "Sewing at once, with a double thread, A shroud as well as a shirt. But why do I talk of Death That phantom of grisly bone, "I hardly fear his terrible shape, "It seems so like my own— » It seeius so like my own, Because of the fasts I keep, "Oh God that bread should be so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap H Work-work-work ■ 31y labour never flags; And what are its wages A bed of straw, "A crust of bread and rags. That shatter'd roof—and this naked floor- H A table-a broken chair- H "And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank ■ For sometimes falling there ■ Work—work—work From weai-y cliiii-ie to ciiiiiie, ■ Work—work—work— i H "As prisoners work for crime ■ "Band,and gusset, and seam, ■ Seam, and gusset, and band, Till the heart is sick, ar.d the brain benunib'd, As well as the weary hand. ■ "\V ork -work-work, In the dull December light, And work—work—work, "When the weather is warm and bright- 11 While underneath the eaves "The brooding swallows cling, As if to show me their sunny backs And twit me with the spring. ■ Oh but to breathe the breath ■ Of the cowslip and primrose sweet With the sky above my head, ■ And the grass beneath my feet, H For only one short hour H To feel as I used to feel, ■ Before I knew the woes of want ■ And the walk that costs a meal H Oh, but for one short hour A respite, however brief! ■ "No blessed leisure for Love or Hope, ■ But only time for Grief ■ A little weeping would ease my heart, ■ But in their briny bed, ■ My tears must stop, for every drop ■ Hinders needle and thread ■ With fingers weary and worn, H With eyelids heavy and red, ■ A woman sate in unwomanly rags, ■ Plying her needle and thread— ■ Stitch stitch stiteli ■ In poverty, hunger, and dirt, ■ And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone could reach the rich She sang this Song of the Shirt

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