Together we seek in the dimness of dawn,
’Mid grass and dead leaves becovered with dew,
To unravel the mystery heard on the lawn;
And the darkness dispelling, we find it too true,
That a babe, sweet and chubby, but a week or two old,
Is lying neglected alone in the cold.
In a coarse blanket-shawl, soiled, ragged, and old,
Lay the poor little sleeper, the picture of grief,
Aweary with weeping and hunger and cold,
Kind nature had brought it this happy relief,