 | [Poems by Gallagher in] The poets and poetry of the West |  |
Stitcher, by the cradle's side,
Where thy fondest hopes abide,
Working with a heart of might
All the day and half the night,
Often till the east grows red
With the dawning, for thy bread;
Though thou art of feeble limb,
And thine eyes are pained and dim,
Sending off, with every piece
Which thy weary hands release,
Portions of thy life wrought in
With the garment, white and thin—
Work and wait; the end is sure;
Time his offspring will mature:
Work with will, and work away,
Doubting not the Better Day!
Where thy fondest hopes abide,
Working with a heart of might
All the day and half the night,
Often till the east grows red
With the dawning, for thy bread;
Though thou art of feeble limb,
And thine eyes are pained and dim,
Sending off, with every piece
Which thy weary hands release,
Portions of thy life wrought in
With the garment, white and thin—
Work and wait; the end is sure;
Time his offspring will mature:
Work with will, and work away,
Doubting not the Better Day!
| [Poems by Gallagher in] The poets and poetry of the West | |