My shining needle! much I prize
Thy tender form and slender size,
And well I love thee now;
Though when I first began to sew,
Before thy proper use I knew,
And often pricked my fingers too,
A trial sore wert thou.
Then speed thee on my needle bright,
The love of thee makes labor light.
Oh, soon thy motions to control,
In collar, wristband, button-hole,
My ready hand attains;
And with thee I can help to form,
Full many a garment stout and warm,
To shield from winter's wind and storm,
The aged and the blind.
Then speed thee on my needle bright,
The love of thee makes labor light.
[Illustration: THE TWO DOVES.]