And a mocking word or glance would send.
Poor little Mag was her only friend:
Faithful and true was the child, indeed.
What did she ever care or heed
For those cruel words, and those looks of scorn
In patient silence they all were borne;
But she prayed that God would hasten the day
That would take her sorrow and care away.
Alas! that day—that longed-for boon,
That ending of sorrow—came all too soon.