“O men, with sisters dear! 
   O 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.

 “But why do I talk of Death? 
  That Phantom of grisly bone,
I hardly fear his terrible shape,
  It seems so like my own;
  It 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! work! 
My labor never flags;
  And what are its wages?  A bed of straw,
A crust of bread—­and rags,
  That shattered roof—­and this naked floor—­
A table—­a broken chair—­
  And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank
For sometimes falling there.

  “Work! work! work! 
From weary chime to chime! 
  Work! work! work! 
As prisoners work for crime! 
  Band, and gusset, and seam,
  Seam, and gusset, and band,
Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumbed,
  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 eaves
  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 feet! 
For only one short hour
  To feel as I used to feel,
Before I knew the woes of want,
  And the walk that costs a meal!

  “Oh but for 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
  Hinders needle and thread.”

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—­
Would that its tone could reach the rich! 
  She sang this “Song of the Shirt.”

LXXIV.  DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. (269)

Edouard Rene Lefebvre-Laboulaye, 1811-1883, was a French writer of note.  Most of his works involve questions of law and politics, and are considered high authority on the questions discussed.  A few works, such as “Abdallah,” from which the following extract is adapted, were written as a mere recreation in the midst of law studies; they show great imaginative power.  Laboulaye took great interest in the United States, her people, and her literature; and many of his works are devoted to American questions.  He translated the works of Dr. William E. Channing into French. ###