But Evil Is Wrought By Want Of

With Fingers Weary And Worn, With Eyelids Heavy And Red, A Woman Sat In Unwomanly Rags, Plying Her Needle And Thread.

Whilst Breezy Waves Toss Up Their Silvery Spray.

Dear Bells! How Sweet The Sound Of Village Bells When On The Undulating Air They Swim!

The Quaker Loves An Ample Brim, A Hat That Bows To No Salaam; And Dear The Beaver Is To Him As If It Never Made A Dam.

O Bed! O Bed! Delicious Bed! That Heaven Upon Earth To The Weary Head.