Since with your father, when he went away,
I walked there too; but he returned no more.
Were he but here to guide thee forth, ’twould be
Less sorrow to my heart to bid thee go.
Thou art not ten years old; so helpless—oh!
How I shall pray to God, my child, for thee!
Unless He aid, how can thy small feet tread
Through a cold world, without a mother’s care?
She would, at least, instruct thee how to bear;
Poor little child! O, why have I no bread?