"It was His power—no earthly power could have aroused my mind from its lethargy, that awakened me one moment before it was too late. It was a bitter trial, but nothing else but the death of that sweet child would have been sufficient to save her wicked mother; I cannot mourn her loss, because I feel that she is now so much better off than while singing her nightly cry through the streets, of 'Hot Corn, Hot Corn, here's your nice hot corn!' Speaking of singing, have you seen the new song, just published, called 'The Dying Words of Little Katy, or Will He Come?"
"Oh it is beautiful. Here it is, do read it:—
"Here's hot corn, nice hot corn!" a voice was crying!
Sweet hot corn, sweet hot corn! the breeze is sighing!
Come buy, come buy—the world's unfeeling—
How can she sell while sleep is stealing?
"Hot corn, come buy my nice hot corn!"
All alone, all alone, she sat there weeping;
While at home, while at home, her sister's sleeping,
"Come buy, come buy, I'm tired of staying;
Come buy, come buy, I'm tired of saying,
Hot corn, come buy my nice hot corn!"
Often there, often there, she sat so drear'ly
With one thought, for she loved her sister dearly:
Did'st hate, did'st hate—how could she ever,
How could she hate her mother?—never.
"Hot corn, come buy my nice hot corn!"
Often there, often there, while others playing,
Hear the cry, "buy my corn," she's ever praying.
"Pray buy, pray buy, kind hearted stranger,
One ear, then home, I'll brave the danger;
Hot corn, come buy my nice hot corn!"
Now at home, now at home, her cry is changing!
"Will he come, will he come?" while fever's raging.
She cries, she cries, "pray let me see him;
Once more, once more, pray let me see him.
Hot corn, he'll buy my nice hot corn!"
"Will he come, will he come?" she's constant crying,
"Will he come, will he come?" poor Katy's dying.
"'Twas he, 'twas he, kind words was speaking
Hot corn, hot corn, while I was seeking
Hot corn, who'll buy my nice hot corn?"
"Midnight there, midnight there, my hot corn crying,
Kindly spoke, first kind words, they stop'd my sighing.
That night, that night, when sleep was stealing,
Kind words, kind words—my heart was healing;
Hot corn, he'll buy my nice hot corn!"
"Will he come, will he come?"—weak hands are feeling!
"He has come, he has come—I see him kneeling—
One kiss—the light—how dim 'tis growing—
I thank—'tis dark—good bye—I'm going—
Hot corn—no more shall cry—hot corn!!!"