Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/284

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THE ORPHAN.
He said—and with a hasty pace From the lone orphan whistling parted,The tears bedewed her pallid face— And down she sunk—half broken-hearted.
Then to her aid a soldier flew, Who had o'erheard her artless story,He knew her sire at Waterloo, And saw him covered o'er with glory!
"Come, orphan, to my arms," he cried, "And I will screen thee from the weather,Close to my side thy parents died, And for their sakes we'll lodge together.
"I have a pension and a cot, Where thou shalt live till I am hoary—Here—wrap thee in this old watch-coat— 'Tis warmer than his Lordship's glory!"
The Orphan.
Where shall the child of sorrow find A place for calm repose?Thou Father of the fatherless, Pity the orphan's woes!
What friend have I in heaven or earth, What friend to trust but Thee?My father's dead—my mother's dead; My God remember me!
Thy gracious promise now fulfil, And bid my trouble cease;From Thee, the fatherless shall find Pure mercy, grace, and peace.
No secret care have I or pain But He that secret knows;Thou Father of the fatherless, Pity the orphan's woes.
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