The Orphan.

I love 'mid those green mounds to stray Where purple violets creep, For there the village children say That both my parents sleep. Bright garlands there I often make Of thyme and daisies fair, And when my throbbing temples ache, I go and rest me there. If angry voices harshly chide, Or threatening words are said, I love to lay me by their side Close in that silent bed. I wish'd a sportive lamb to bide My coming o'er the lea. It broke away and bleating cried, "My mother waits for me." "Stay, stay, sweet bird!" On pinion strong It fled with dazzling breast, And soon I heard its matron song Amid its chirping nest. "Why dost thou fade, young bud of morn, And hide thy drooping gem?" And the bud answered, "They have torn Me from my parent stem." Go happy warbler to thy bower, White lambkin, gambol free, I'll save this lone and wither'd flower, It seems to pity me. "Come mother, come! and soothe thy child!" Methinks I hear her sigh, "Cold clods are on my bosom pil'd, And darkness seals my eye." She cannot burst the chain of fate By which her limbs are pressed. "Dear father rise! and lift the weight That loads my mother's breast." In vain I speak, in vain the tear Bedews the mouldering clay, My deep complaint they do not hear, I may not longer stay. Yet ere I go, I'll kneel and say The humble prayer they taught, When by their side at closing day I breath'd my infant thought. God will not leave my heart to break, The Orphan He'll defend, Father and mother may forsake, But He's the Unchanging Friend.