"Full many a day has rolled away
Since I have laid me down,
To cease to weep, and fall asleep,
Save on the cold, damp ground;
And many more may pass me o'er
Ere I may cease to roam;
One year ago it was not so,—
For then I had a home!
"Then on his child a father smiled,
And fondly me caressed;
When sorrow came, or bitter pain,
I leaned upon his breast;
He'd kiss my cheek, and kindly speak
In soft and soothing tone;
Oh, what a strange and dreary change—
For then I had a home!
"When evening gray shut out the day,
Beside my mother's knee,
With simple air I breathed the prayer
That mother taught to me;
Then laid me down, not on the ground,
Not on this cold, damp stone;
But on my bed, love made instead,—
For then I had a home!
"The livelong day I spent in play
Around our peaceful cot,
Or plucked the flowers from blooming bowers,
And to my mother brought.
Then bliss and joy without alloy,
And love around me shone;
Then hope could rest within my breast—
For then I had a home!
"My father died, and by his side
My darling mother sleeps;
And now their child in anguish wild
Wanders around and weeps!
The pleasant cot my father bought
A stranger calls his own;
With tearful face I left the place,
For it was not my home!
"No home have I, no shelter nigh,
And none my grief to share;
But I've a Friend, to him I'll bend,
And he will grant my prayer.
He'll lend an ear for he can hear,
Though high his mighty throne;
My steps he'll guide, and he'll provide
The orphan with a home!
"Dark grows the sky, my lips are dry,
And cold my aching brow;
Is this a dream?—for, lo! I seem
To see my mother now!
Faint grows my breath, the arm's of death
Are surely round me thrown;
Oh, what a light breaks on my sight!
There, there's the orphan's home!"
With smiling face in death's embrace
The orphan calmly slept;
He heard no more the tempest's roar;
No more the orphan wept.
No longer pain might rack his brain,
No longer might he roam,
The dearly loved he'd met above,
And found with them a home!
SENTENTIOUS PARAGRAPHS.
Rest, but few can comprehend the word. At morn I speak it, but at midnight most, and then 'tis music! Oh, the thought of rest—of perfect freedom, from distress and pain—of health, of vigor in each nerve and limb. The thought inspires, consoles, and makes me pray for fear I shall lose the blessing. Grant me, O God, a patient heart; and may my will be so conformed to thine, that I may wait thy own good pleasure, whatsoever it be.