Vanity Fair, November
2, 1861
THE SONG OF THE SOCK
Respectfully dedicated to the fore-woman or “Hose Company,
No. 1”
By a Blue Stocking Maker
I
With fingers flying fast,
With voices merry and light,
“The Club” are sitting in easy chairs,
Plying their needles bright,--
Knit ! knit ! knit !
As forward and back they rock,
And ever, as at work they sit,
They sing the “Song of the Sock !”—
II
Work ! work ! work !
In the sunny afternoon !
And work, work, work,
By the silver light of the moon !
It’s oh ! to be a slave
And work with right good will
While we have yet a country to save,
And brothers to go and—drill!
III
Work, work, work !
Our labor never flags,
Till our soldiers down in Dixie,
Burn all session
rags;
Till the sacred tomb of Washington
Which woman’s labor won,
Shall be free to every pilgrim,--
Rebought with sword and gun.
IV
Work, work, work,
‘Twill help to “roll the ball.”
Work, work, work,
Till the evening shadows fall !
Seam, and middle, and heel,
Heel, and middle, and seam,
Till the welcome sound of the supper-bell,
Startles us, as from a dream.
V
Work, work, work !
With sympathies all alive;
Work, work, work,
Till the gentlemen arrive;
And then for a few short hours,
To listen, and laugh, and talk,
And hold the yarn, or wind,--
Then start for a homeward walk,
VI
With fingers flying fast,
With voices merry and light,
“The Club” are sitting in easy chairs,
Plying their needles bright,
Knit ! knit ! knit !
As forward and back they rock,
And ever, as at work they sit,
In this spasmodic, industrious fit,
They sing the “Song of the Sock !”
