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.'

Alas! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun!

Work! work! work! While the cock is crowing aloof! And work-work-work, Till the stars shine through the roof!

One more Unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashion'd so slenderly Young, and so fa…

People from all sectors of society, including business, government and community must all work together to reduce poverty at its source, by ensuring that all h…

Her washing ended with the day, Yet lived she at its close, And passed the long, long night away In darning ragged hose. But when the sun in all its state Illu…

And the difficultest job a man can do, Is to come it brave and meek with thirty bob a week, And feel that that's the proper thing for you. It's a naked child a…