At the thought that on waking how hungry they’ll feel.
“Oh! what shall I give them? the crusts are quite dry,
Yet they’re all that I have.” With many a sigh
She turns to her work, for she knows when ’tis done
More bread can be bought with the shilling she’s won.
O brave, weary mother! the morning has come;
You’re hungry and cold, but the work is not done.
Thus through the sad seasons she’s bent o’er her knee
So low that her back has a curve, don’t you see—
A curve truly Grecian! I’m sure you would find,