Song of the Shirt

Song of the ShirtWith fingers weary and worn,With eyelids heavy and red,A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,Plying her needle and threadStitch! stitch! stitch!In poverty, hunger, and dirt,And still with a voice of dolorous pitchShe 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 Oh! to be a slaveAlong with