THE SONG OF THE SCRUBBER.
[There is a " Song- of the Shirt"; why not one of the Scrubber?] Scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing— Days may pass and nights may go— Eubbing, rubbing, rubbing, Makes the only song I "know. See the bubbles run before, Coursing long the kitchen floor; See them bursting as they go, Each a tear of human woe. Scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing— Who will envy me my lot? Rubbing, rubbing, rubbing— Labour here with pain is fraught. Aching back and " housemaids* knees,"These are mine, and more than these; Every woe that man can feel Ride's o'er me on torture's wheel. Scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing— Ye to floors and servants blindRubbing, rubbing, rubbings— Think of she who scrubs behind. Tread ye light across the hall. On some soul thy footsteps fall; For each speck you leave below Agony some breast shall know. Scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing—. How it sways my wea,ry brain; Rabbins', rubbing, rubbing— How will I know hope again? Down my gloomy page of years Naught is there that's dry of tears. H*aven. hast thou peace for me? Soon I'll scrub my way to thee. —Phcenix.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/OW19100112.2.273
Bibliographic details
Otago Witness, Issue 2913, 12 January 1910, Page 94
Word Count
185THE SONG OF THE SCRUBBER. Otago Witness, Issue 2913, 12 January 1910, Page 94
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