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!