Miss Peggy Pringle, meek and meager, pliesHer eydent needle from the earliest beam,And, far in night, by her lone candle triesTo eik her penury with thread and seam.Beneath the turf her hearty father sleeps;Her thrifty mother there, assists no more.She had a sister, ah! to think, she weeps;And her brave brother lies on a far shore.Alone, Miss Peggy picks her patient way;The path she's on leads to the house of God,And there, his will be done on earth, she'll pray.Three score and ten,--perhaps at four score years .-Her eiking hemm'd, she'll look about for shears.
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The Seamstress
written byGalt John
© Galt John
