1. 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 a voice of dolorous pitch
She sang the song of the shirt.
2. "Work —work —work
Till the brain begins to swim;
Work —work —work
Till the eyes are heavy and dim!
Seam, and gusset, and band,
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Till over the buttons I fall asleep,
And sew them on in a dream!"
3. "Oh, Men, with Sisters dear!
Oh, men, with Mothers and Wives!
It is not linen you're wearing out,
But human creatures' lives!
Stitch —stitch —stitch,
In poverty, hunger and dirt,
Sewing at once, with a double thread,
A shroud as well as a shirt."
View the published score.
View the original publication in Punch Magazine.
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4. "But why do I talk of Death?
That Phantom of grisly bone,
I hardly fear its terrible shape,
It seems so like my own —"
It seems so like her own,
Because of the fasts she keeps;
Oh, God! that bread could be so dear,
And human flesh so cheap!
5. "Work — work —work!
My labour never flags;
And what are its wages? A bed of straw,
A crust of bread — and rags.
That shatter'd roof — and this naked floor —
A table — a broken chair —
And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank
For sometimes falling there!"
6. 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 a voice of dolorous pitch, —
O, that its tone might reach the rich! —
She sang the song of the shirt!
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