THE SEWING MACHINE.

I sing the Sewing Machine,

The blessings it brings to the fair.

Some of those blessings I've seen,

And therefore its praises declare.

‘ Tis a curious thing

Of which I now sing,

And poets have sung it before me;

But if the theme's good,

‘ Twill be well understood

I'm right in prolonging the story.

Well finished Sewing Machine!

Whose form is so graceful and neat;

Thou of inventions art Queen,

And to look at thy work is a treat.

Each nice burnished wheel,

With the plate of pure steel,

Thy gold bedecked arms and the gauges,

All speak of the skill

Which the genius at will

Puts forth in the work that he wages.

Wonderful Sewing Machine!

No visions of gloom and despair

Float over my mind serene,

As I thy performance compare

To the old-fashioned stitch,

The dread sorrows which

Accompanied work by the fingers

Of those forced to sew

‘ Midst a life full of woe.

With pity my soul on it lingers.

Excellent Sewing Machine!

Thy musical click-a-click-click,

Removes far away the spleen

From those who of toiling are sick.

Thy task speeds along,

While the fair ones in song

Give vent to their feelings of gladness.

How diff'rent I ween

From the sight often seen

By HOOD with a heart full of sadness.

Dutiful Sewing Machine!

Now cheerfully stitching away,

Neatly and quickly, as seen

In the things by my wife made to-day;

Enraptured am I,

For no heart-bursting sigh

Escapes from the dear operator;

But a smile of delight

Is now alwavs in sight,

Of happiness sweet indicator.

Beautiful Sewing Machine!

How thankful am I to the man

Through many years who has been

Thus carefully forming thy plan!

May smiles from the fair,

Rid of much toil and care —

Shine on him, in moments of anguish.

May their tender hands

To obey his commands

Be ready, should he in life languish.