THE ORPHAN.

The storm was loud; a murky cloud

O'erhung the midnight sky,

And rude the blast that wildly passed

A lonely orphan by;

But ruder still the bitter thrill

Of woe that rent his heart;

Darker his fears, sadder the tears

That evermore would start.

“Bleak is the storm, and on my form

The winds in fury beat;

A racking pain, torments my brain,

And sore these weary feet;

No ray of light illumes the night,

And here, alas! I roam,

Where tempests howl and wild beasts growl;

Oh, that I had a home!

“Full many a day has rolled away

Since I have laid me down,

To cease to weep, and fall asleep,

Save on the cold, damp ground;

And many more may pass me o'er

Ere I may cease to roam;

One year ago it was not so,—

For then I had a home!

“Then on his child a father smiled,

And fondly me caressed;

When sorrow came, or bitter pain,

I leaned upon his breast;

He'd kiss my cheek, and kindly speak

In soft and soothing tone;

Oh, what a strange and dreary change —

For then I had a home!

“When evening gray shut out the day,

Beside my mother's knee,

With simple air I breathed the prayer

That mother taught to me;

Then laid me down, not on the ground,

Not on this cold, damp stone;

But on my bed, love made instead,—

For then I had a home!

“The livelong day I spent in play

Around our peaceful cot,

Or plucked the flowers from blooming bowers,

And to my mother brought.

Then bliss and joy without alloy,

And love around me shone;

Then hope could rest within my breast —

For then I had a home!

“My father died, and by his side

My darling mother sleeps;

And now their child in anguish wild

Wanders around and weeps!

The pleasant cot my father bought

A stranger calls his own;

With tearful face I left the place,

For it was not my home!

“No home have I, no shelter nigh,

And none my grief to share;

But I've a Friend, to him I'll bend,

And he will grant my prayer.

He'll lend an ear for he can hear,

Though high his mighty throne;

My steps he'll guide, and he'll provide

The orphan with a home!

“Dark grows the sky, my lips are dry,

And cold my aching brow;

Is this a dream?— for, lo! I seem

To see my mother now!

Faint grows my breath, the arm's of death

Are surely round me thrown;

Oh, what a light breaks on my sight!

There, there's the orphan's home!”

With smiling face in death's embrace

The orphan calmly slept;

He heard no more the tempest's roar;

No more the orphan wept.

No longer pain might rack his brain,

No longer might he roam,

The dearly loved he'd met above,

And found with them a home!