My Tears Must Stop, For

There Is Not A String Attuned To Mirth But Has Its Chord Of Melancholy.

O Men With Sisters Dear, O Men With Mothers And Wives, It Is Not Linen You 're Wearing Out, But Human Creatures' Lives!

No Sun, No Moon, No Morn, No Noon, No Dawn, No Dusk, No Proper Time Of Day, . . . . . . No Road, No Street, No T' Other Side The Way, . . . . . . No Shade, No Shine, No Butterflies, No Bees, No Fruits, No Flowers, No Leaves, No Buds.

I Remember, I Remember, The House Where I Was Born, The Little Window Where The Sun Came Peeping In At Morn.

My Tears Must Stop, For Every Drop Hinders Needle And Thread.