Sometimes he stops to watch the lights, Poor, lonely, little Joe, And sees some whirling, dazzling sights While dancers come and go.
In homes he hears the child-like noise, Poor, orphaned, little Joe, And wonders if their little boys To great, good men will grow.
He seeks, at last, a sheltering shed, Poor, hungry, little Joe, And makes, of tattered coat, a bed, While tear-drops freely flow.
And: “Now I lay me down to sleep,” Says drowsy, little Joe, “And pray the Lord my soul to keep,” He whispers, soft and low.
“If I should die before I wake,” Breathes tired, little Joe, “I pray the Lord my soul to take,” And it was even so.
Transcriber Notes:
Uncertain or antiquated spellings or ancient words were not corrected.
Typographical errors have been silently corrected but other variations in spelling and punctuation remain unaltered.