THE SONG OF THE SHIRT.

ITH fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,

A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,

Plying her needle and thread,

Stitch! stitch! stitch!

In poverty, hunger, and dirt;

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the "Song of the Shirt !"

"Work! work! work!

While the cock is crowing aloof!
And work-work — work,

Till the stars shine through the roof!
It's O, to be a slave

Along with the barbarous Turk,
Where woman has never a soul to save,
If this is Christian work!

"Work work - work!

Till the brain begins to swim

Work-work - work

Till the eyes are heavy and dim!
Seam, and gusset, and band,

Band, and gusset, and seam, Till over the buttons I fall asleep, And sew them on in a dream!

"O men with sisters dear!

O men with mothers and wives! It is not linen you 're wearing out, But human creatures' lives! Stitch-stitch stitch,

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 seems so like my own,
Because of the fasts I keep;

O God! that bread should be so dear,
And flesh and blood so cheap!

"Work-work-work!

My labor never flags;

And what are its wages? A bed of straw, A crust of bread — and rags,

That shattered roof- and this naked floor-
A table -a broken chair-

And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank
For sometimes falling there !

"Work-work- work!
From weary chime to chime,
Work - work- -work
As prisoners work for crime!
Band, and gusset, and seam,

Seam, and gusset, and band,

Till the heart is sick and the brain be

"Work-work-work!

In the dull December light!

And work work — work,

When the weather is warm and bright

While underneath the eaves

The brooding swallows cling,