"Lodged in an outhouse, exposed to the sky;
Beasts underneath in a shelter all dry.
"Rest for the horses, but work for the slave;—
Tyrant! thy betters were death and the grave.
"Sick—yes! he told you with faltering breath;
Lazy you termed it, you beat him in death.
"Bridge you the river he crossed to atone?
Drown you with orgies the orphan's sad moan?
"Nay! for those wailings will ring in your ear;
Haunt your night visions, and follow your bier.
"Whilst that mighty Power which hath mother-love given
Will surely unite what asunder is riven.
"And fill with choice music the one silent tone,
By yielding to mother-love all of its own."
IV.
Where were the justice if earth were our all!
Where, if life's limits were girt of the pall!
God of the fatherless! heard'st Thou that cry!
Wail of the orphan-soul piercing the sky.