...dear! O men, with mothers and wives! It is not linen you "re wearing out! But human creatures' lives I Stitch — stitch — stitch, In poverty, hunger,...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 1 ' ' Work — work — work !...

...food? " But why do / tnlk of dirt, Where nothing else is known ? I hardly know the foul thing's form. It seems so — like my own. It seems so like my own — While three in a bed we sleep, Till filth doth grow to the poor man dew, While water and soap am...

...dear, O ! men, with mothers and wives, It is uot linen you're wearing out, But human creatures' lives ! Stitch, stitch, stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt,...with a double thread, A shroud as well as a shirt." " Stop," says a Spitalfields weaver, " God plants truth in the hearts of men, and this is of it." "...

...with mothers and wivee ! It is not linen you're wearing out, But human creatures' lives ! sin i'Ii — stitch — stitch. In poverty, hunger, and dirt, Sewing at once, with a double tbread, A sbroud as well as a shirt. " But wby do I talk of Death — That phantom of grisly bone,...

...her hard condition. The case may apply as well to laborers of the other sex, if not even better. " But why do I talk of death. That phantom of grisly...— It seems so like my own, Because of the fasts 1 keep, U God ! that bread should be to dear, And flesh and blood so cheap ! " Work, work, work ! My...

...O ! men, with mothers and wives I It is not linen you're wearing out, But human creatures' lives ! Stitch— stitch— stitch ! In poverty, hunger, and...But why do I talk of Death ? That phantom of grisly hone, 1 hardly fear his terrible shape, It seems so like my own. It Booms so like my own, Because of...

...human creatures' lived! Stitch — stich — stitch. In poverty, hunger, and dirt, Sewing nt onre, with a double thread, A Shroud as well as a Shirt. " ' But why do I talk of Death > That phantom of grizly bone, I hardly fear his terrible shape, It seems fo like my own — It seems so like my own,...

...stitch— stitch ! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, Sowing at once, with a double thread, A shroud as welt os a shirt. But why do I talk of Death ? That phantom of grisly hone, 1 hardly fear his terrible shape, It seems но like my own. It seems so like my own. Because...

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...Oh ! men with mothers and wives ! It is not linen you're wearing out, But human creatures' lives ! Stitch — stitch — stitch ! In poverty, hunger,...my own — It seems so like my own, Because of the fast I keep : Oh God ! that bread should be so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap ! " Work — work...