Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1907-02-22
The SONG oE THE SHIRT.
tThomas IIoodl

This poem the production Of the au-
thors mature life, was said, at the time
Of his death GS45) to have given a ''re-
markable impetus to the movement on be-
half of distressed needlewomen." On the
monument erected to his memory Gin
1850 by public subscription is inscribed:
Gle Sang the Song Of the Shirt" Elderly
people in Springfield and vicinity recall
that away back in lyceum lecture days
George William Curtis delivered a lee
ture in the old City hall in which he in
troduced this poem, rendering II In strong
nasal tones with startling effect. lib
erty Is taken with the last stanza, chang
ing the tense from past to present,
since the burden Of the song is as APP
plcable to our times as It was to Hoods
The seamtress still sings this tragic song
In every city
with fingers weary and worn.
with eyelds 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 dolorous pitch
She sang the Song Of the Shirt"
Work. Work! Work!
While the cock is growing aoof!
And work-work-work
Till the stars shine through the roof!
It's o, 70 be n slave
Along with the barbarous Turk
Where woman has never n soul to save,
II this is Christian work
Woodwork
Till the brain begins to swim
worl-work-wor
TIL the owes are heavy and dim,
Scam and gusset and band.
Band and gusset and seam.
| Till over the buttons I fall asleep
Al fv Ivn
O. Mem with sisters dear
o. men with mothers and wives'
It is not linen you're wearing out,
But human creatures lives
Stitch-stitch-sttc
In poverty. hunger and dirt.
Sewing at once. with a double thread,
4 shroud rs we'll as a shirt
But why do I talk NJ Death
That phantom Of Erisly bone
7 hardly fear his terrible shape.
II seems so like my own
II 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--wo
NV labor never flags;
And what are my wages? 4 bed OF straw.
A crust Of bread-and rags.
That shattered roof-and this NAKED floor
table-a broken chair
And wall so blank. my shadow I thank
For sometimes falling there
Work work-work!
From weary chime to chime.
Work-work-
! As prisoners work for crime
Band and gusset and seam.
Seam and gusset and band.
! TIL the heart is sick and the brain be-
numbed.
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 caves
The broodng swallows cling
! As II 10 show me their sunny backs,
And twit me with the spring
/ OH hut to breathe the breath
/ or the cowslip and primrose sweet
With the sky above my head
i And the grass beneath my feet.
/ For only one short hour
To feel as used to feel
/ Before I knew the woes Of want.
And the walk that costs n meal
| oh hut for one short hour
\ respite however hrief,
I No blessed leisure for love or hope
But only time for grief
. 4 little weeping would ease my heart.
But in their hriny bed
| Nv tears must stop. for every drop
flinders needle and thread
with fingers weary and worn.
with eyeids heavy and red
4 woman sits in unwomanly rags.
PLYING her needle and thread
stitch, stitch, stitch
In poverty, hunger and dirt.
And still with n voice Of dolorous pitch
Would that its tone could reach the
rich,-
She sings this Song Of the Shirt,
-[Springfeld Republican.