SULTRY air, the smoke of shavings, Dirt spread over all, Feet and benches dirty; cobwebs To adorn the wall: Smoke-begrimed each cottage chamber; Bread and water stale; Spinners coughing, children crying— Want and woe prevail. Hand to mouth lifelong they labor, Then a pauper's grave— Ah! what need to learn the lesson— "Trust, my soul, be brave!" |