ITH fingers weary and worn, WIT With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, In poverty, hunger and dirt; And 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, Will 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 begin to swim! Work-work-work Till the eyes are heavy and dim. Seam, and gusset, and band, Band, and gusset, and seamTill 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 dirtSewing at once, with a double thread, A shroud as well as a shirt. But why do I talk of deathThat 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, And a wall so blank my shadow I thank 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 benumbed, As well as the weary hand. 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, As if to show me their sunny backs, Oh! but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet— With the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet! For only one short hour To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want, And the walk that costs a meal! The farmer went back to the field, and the wife In a smiling, absent way She'd not sung for many a day. And the pain in her head was gone, and the clothes "Just think," the children all cried in a breath, "Tom Wood has run off to sea! He wouldn't, I know, if he'd only had As happy a home as we." The night came down, and the good wife smiled 'Tis so sweet to labor for those we love- TH Industry. 'HE way to wealth is as plain as the way to market. It depends chiefly on two words: industry and frugality; that is, waste neither time nor money, but make the best use of both. Without industry and frugality, nothing will do, and with them everything. Sloth makes all things difficult, but industry all easy; and he that riseth late must trot all day, and shall scarce overtake his business at night, while laziness travels so slowly that poverty soon overtakes him. Industry need not wish, and he that lives upon hopes will die fasting. There are no gains without pains. Then help, hands, for I have no lands; or if I have, they are smartly taxed. He that hath a trade, hath an estate, and he that hath a calling, hath an office of profit and honor; but then the trade must be worked at, and the calling followed, or neither the estate nor the office will enable us to pay our taxes. If we are industrious, we shall never starve; for, at the working man's house, hunger looks in, but dares not enter. Nor will the bailiff or the constable enter, for industry pays debts, while despair increaseth them. Employ thy time well, if thou meanest to gain leisure; and since thou art not sure of a minute, throw not away an hour. Leisure is time for doing something useful; this leisure the diligent man will obtain, but the lazy man never; for a life of leisure and a life of laziness are two things. -Benjamin Franklin. |