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Orphan Poems

Table of Contents

  1. The Orphan by Jane Taylor
  2. The Orphan's Prayer by Lizzie F. Baldy
  3. The Unconscious Orphan by Hannah Flagg Gould
  4. An Orphan by Annette Wynne
  5. An Orphan by Martha G. Beck

  1. The Orphan

    by Jane Taylor

    My father and mother are dead,
    Nor friend, nor relation I know;
    And now the cold earth is their bed,
    And daisies will over them grow.

    I cast my eyes into the tomb,
    The sight made me bitterly cry;
    I said, "And is this the dark room,
    Where my father and mother must lie?"

    I cast my eyes round me again,
    In hopes some protector to see;
    Alas! but the search was in vain,
    For none had compassion on me.

    I cast my eyes up to the sky,
    I groan'd, though I said not a word;
    Yet GOD was not deaf to my cry,
    The Friend of the fatherless heard.

    For since I have trusted his care,
    And learn'd on his word to depend,
    He has kept me from every snare,
    And been my best Father and Friend.

  2. The Orphan's Prayer

    by Lizzie F. Baldy

    It was a dark and stormy night,
    An orphan kneeled to pray;
    Beside her mother's lonely grave,
    In churchyard dim and gray.

    "O! Father, unto thee I pray,
    That Thou wilt take me home;
    And let it be thy will, oh! God,
    To bid me to thee come.

    "I long to see thy blessed face,
    That land where all is bright,
    To see thy holy city, Lord,
    Where there shall be no night."

    That night a shining angel came,
    To churchyard dark and cold,
    And led her up through pearly gates,
    To heavenly streets of gold.

    Serenely clear the morning dawned,
    The storm had passed away;
    No living eyes beside that grave,
    Welcomed the King of Day.

  3. The Unconscious Orphan

    by Hannah Flagg Gould

    Mother, I have found a tear
    In your eye! How came it here?
    More are coming; now they chase
    One another down your face.
    How I feel your bosom heave!
    What does make you sob and grieve?
    Let me wipe your tears away,
    Or I cannot go to play.

    Why is father sleeping so?
    Put me down, and let me go—
    Let me go, where I can stand
    Near enough to reach his hand.
    Why! it feels as stiff and cold
    As a piece of ice, to hold!
    Lift me up to kiss his cheek;
    Then, perhaps, he'll wake and speak.

    Mother, oh! it isn't he,
    For he will not look at me!
    Father hadn't cheeks so white!
    See, the lips are fastened tight!
    Father always spoke and smiled,
    Calling me his 'darling child;'
    He would give and ask a kiss,
    When I came; but who is this?

    If 't is father, has he done
    Speaking to his little one?
    Will he never, never more
    Know and love me, as before?
    Could he hear what we have said?
    Tell me; what is being dead?
    O! he does'nt breathe a breath!
    Mother, what's the cause of death?

  4. An Orphan

    by Annette Wynne

    Everything has sisters, brothers,
    Pussy willows, stars and others;
    Puppy dogs and kittens, too,
    Have "relations"—quite a few;
    But the moon that lives alone
    Has no family of her own,
    Has no sister and no brother,
    Has no aunt, and has no mother;
    And it lives up very high
    Like an orphan in the sky.

  5. The Orphan

    by Martha G. Beck

    An orphan to our home we took—
    A little brown-eyed dove;
    So winning- in her baby ways,
    We could not choose but love.

    A home with only sons—
    Unblest by sister's grace—
    What marvel they claimed her
    To fill the vacant place?

    Like a sunbeam to our home
    She came, our dull lives to bless—
    A humming bird amid the gloom
    That on leafless forest rest.

    Grown-up ones, though of life a part,
    Excites not the sympathy,
    That wells up in the parent heart,
    For weak, helpless infancy.

    Our lives had drifted on the same
    For many, many years:
    Our hearts, like an arid plain,
    Our eyes unused to tears.

    She soon awoke our love,
    For it was but asleep;
    Eyes not used to tears,
    Alas! soon learned to weep.

    Death has nipped our flow'ret,
    With all her winsome charms;
    For her angel mother came
    And took her from our arms.

    Ah! our home is lonely now
    Though we are nearing rest;
    To Our Father's will we bow,
    He governs for the best.

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