Bloomington herald. [volume] (Bloomington, I. T. [Iowa]) 1840-1849, 1844-03-01

scarcely form an adequate conception OF the aw-
extent of vice of which they are the scenes, and
wretched condition Of thousands upon thousands
hc;r Inhabitants: y@ Missourian.
THE SONG OF THE SHIRT.
With 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 voice Of d"lorcus pitch.
She sings the "Song of the Shirt"
Work work work
While the cock is Growing aloof!
And work-wo!k-work,
Till the stars shine through the roof!
It's o! to be a slave
Along with the barbarous Turk,
Where woman has never soul TO save,
If this is christian work
"Work work work!
Till the brain begins to swim,
" Extraordinarily,
Till the eyes are heavy and dim!
Scam, and gusset, and band,
Band and gusset, and seam,
Till over the buttons fall asleep,
And sew them on in dream!
80! Men, with Sisters dear!
o! Men with Mothers and Wives!
It is not linen you're wearing out,
But human creatures lives!
h-stitch-stitch,
In poverty. hunger, and dirt!
Sewing at once, with double thread,
A Shroud as we'll as Shirt!
But why do talk Of death
That Phantom of g-isly bone.
hardly fear his terrible shape,
1t seems so like my own
1t seems SO like my own
Because of the fasts keep,
God that bread should be so dear,
And flesh and blood so cheap!
"Work-work-work:
My labor never flags;
And what are his wages! A bed Of straw,
A crust Of bread and rags.
A shattered roof-and this naked floor,
A table-a broken chair
And wall so blank, my shadow thank,
For sometimes falling there!
"Work-work--work!
From weary chime to chime;
Work-work-work,
As prisoners work for crime!
Band, and gussett, and seam,
Seam, and gusset, and band,
Till the heart is sick, and the brain benum'd
As we'll as the weary hand.
"Work--wosk-work,
In the dull December light,
And woodwork,
When the weather is warm and bright
While underneath the caves,
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 fec,
For one short hour
To feel as used to feel,
Before knew the woes of want.
And the walk that costs meal.
'.Oh but 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
flinders needle and thread!
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat III unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread
Stich-stich-stich!
In poverty, hunger, aud dirt,
And still with voice Of dolorous pitch
Would that its tones could reach the Rich :
She sang this rs ong Of the Shirt %
Speaking Of the next Presidential election
9 Nswburyport Herald "a coon paper) saws
II the battle isso be fought ia 1914, betwee
u. sa2 buren aud Mr.. Clay, we have nc
ow' ah6 never have had, the least doubt az ,
,e result. 1t will be the reverse of sSo ' :.
will be broughI abou. by the votes ~ ~ =,
30 than 10000 citizens 10 the yarious na :,
the Union. who will vote for M. W. Pa D.
N, not because they 10 reality like him i'm AZ AZ
70 policy. but because they dislike him T.
aap Mr.. Clay. ' g