The progressive farmer. [volume] (Winston, N.C.) 1886-1904, 1894-06-05

clock in the steeple strikes one, then
two. 20, that 7 could rest awhile, but
no; this dress is not near done yet and
Till it's finished I'll have nothing to eat.
I'm SO hungry, sc weary, SO lonely to-
night" Thus / heard, or seemed to
hear, this frail woman as she whispered
her sorrow TO the midnight gloom.
she was a beautiful woman, beautiful
In her sadness, in her toll, beautiful in
the sublimity of a soul suffering in
silence, beautiful to God and the angels.
But that beauty, that inmost royalty
or the soul, did not seem a thing of
beauty to the great, selfish world out
side. There's many a fragile ii Jwer
wasting in lone, hidden dales far
sWeeter than the rose or the lilly or the
violet upon the brides bosom or in the
queens flower garden. There's many
a hero and heroine far greater than
any on history's page. There's many
a gem OF genius and beauty which we
meet every day, but we don't know it,
we don't want to know it. Persons
and things and themes, illustrations
and gaudy and grand have the mind
of the world today. But the humble
and the worthy and the true and the
brave, the unknown, the unseen heroes
and causes droop, suffering, dying.
Only a few years since this woman
was a queen at the banquet of joy, but
ali! how often doth misfortunes creep
into the happiestl One by one her
joys grew less, day by day her flower
OF prosperity faded and died, friend by
friend proved false, till now forgotten
and alone she tolls for her daily bread,
she weaves her pure woman's soul
away moment by moment, weaves it's
very tissues into bright gaudy costumes
for sports to dazzle the world with, but
the name Of the seamstress is seldom
heard from fashions tickle life. No
mortal eye ever beheld a sadder scene
than a woman suffering. Where is the
manhood ready to right woman's
wrongs7 Where is an ocean of Anglo
Saxon blood ready to be spilled for
woman's sake, for woman's justice2 I
listen as she sobs in the dark, lonely
room this dark, dreary night, sobs in
silence, but the world cares not for her
tears.
0, the many broken hearts, the many
tear stained cheeks there are in life
caused by mans inhumanity to mani
o, truth, immortal truth, where art
thou9 0, justice, immaculate justice,
art thou sleeping9 Are human hearts
shorn of human sympathy and love9
We can't tell. There's many a sigh be-
hind many asmile, many a tear dressed
injoy's garb. Often the sweetest songs
are sung while the heart of the singer
is breaking, and the dying bird sings
sweetest while it dies. Then I remem-
bered Thomas Hoods song:
THE SONG OF THE SHIRT.
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
Awoman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread.
Standardization!
In poverty, hunger, and dirt;
And still with q voice of dolorous pitch
She sang the Song of the Sh1rt!'
"Work-work-work!
While the cock Is Growing aloof,
And WOrk-Work-woIk,
Till the stars shine through the roof!
It's oh! to be a slave,
Along with the barbarous Turk,
Where woman has never q soul to save,
e If this is Christian work!
Observation-Disclosures
Till the brain begins to swim;
WOrk-work-worl
Till the eyes are heavy and dim!
Seam and gusset, and band,
Till over the buttons / fall asleep,
And sew them on in a dream.
20, men, with sisters dear!
9, men with mothers and wives,
But human creatures lives!
Standardization
In poverty, unger. and dirt;
Sewing at once, with a double thread,
A shrOud as well as a shirt.
"WOrk-WOrk-Workl
Ny labor never flags;
And what are Its wages? A bed OF straw,
A crust OF bread, and rags.
That's shattered roof-and this naked floor
A table-a broken chair;
And q wall SO blank, my shadow l thank
Fer some times falling thereI
ITO BIZ CONTINUED
OBEYED ORDERS STRICTLY.