She heard, as the story of Jesus was read,
How he suffer'd below, how for sinners he bled;
Tears fell from her eyes like the drops of a show'r,
Till sobbings of anguish were heard at the door.
That night did the Lord, by his Spirit, impart,
To the penitent child a conversion of heart;
Then happy was she, though an orphan and poor,
And she never forgot how she knelt at the door.
B.
THE HEATHEN MOTHER.
[[Listen]]
See that heathen mother stand
Where the sacred currents flow,
With her own maternal hand,
Mid the waves her infant throw.
Hark! I hear the piteous scream,
Frightful monsters seize their prey:
Or the dark and bloody stream
Bears the struggling child away.
Fainter now, and fainter still,
Breaks the cry upon the ear;
But the mother's heart is steel;
She, unmov'd, that cry can hear.