Sixth reader for the use of schools . uch aroused him. He raised up his hands, And spoke the name of God in agony. She knew that he was stricken, then ; and rushd Again into his arms; and, with a flood Of tears she could not bridle, sobbd a prayer That he would breathe his agony in words. He told her—and a momentary flush Shot oer her countenance; and then the soul Of Jephthas daughter wakend; and she stood Calmly and nobly up, and said twas well— And she would die. ***** The sun had well nigh fire was on the altar ; and the priestOf the High Grod was there. A pallid manWas stretching
Sixth reader for the use of schools . uch aroused him. He raised up his hands, And spoke the name of God in agony. She knew that he was stricken, then ; and rushd Again into his arms; and, with a flood Of tears she could not bridle, sobbd a prayer That he would breathe his agony in words. He told her—and a momentary flush Shot oer her countenance; and then the soul Of Jephthas daughter wakend; and she stood Calmly and nobly up, and said twas well— And she would die. ***** The sun had well nigh fire was on the altar ; and the priestOf the High Grod was there. A pallid manWas stretching out his trembling hand to Heaven,As if he would have prayed, but had no words—And she who was to die, the calmest oneIn Israel at that hour, stood up waited for the sun to set. Her faceWas pale, but very beautiful—her lipHad a more delicate outline, and the tintWas deeper ; but her countenance was likeThe majesty of angels. The sun set—•And she was dead, but not by violence. N. P. Willis. 420 THE SIXTH READER,. CLXVIII.—SONG OF THE SHIRT. 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 still, with a voice of dolorous pitch. She sang the Song of the Shirt. SONG OF THE SHIRT, 421 Work ! work ! work ! While tlie cock is crowing aloofAnd work—work—work, Till the stars shine through the roof IIts oh ! to be a slave, Along with the barbarous Turk,Where woman has never a soul to savo, If this is Christian work ! Work—work—work— Till the brain begins to swim!Work—work—work, Till the eyes are heavy and dim!Seam, and gusset, and baud, Band, and gusset, and seam,Till over the buttons I fall asleep, And sew them on in a dream! Oh ! men, with sisters dear! Oh! men, with mothers and wives!It is not linen youre wearing out, But human creatures lives IStitch—stitch—stitch, In poverty, hunger, and dirt,Sewing at once a double
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