Collected by Parler
Mrs. Donna Everett Huntsville, Ark.
August 11, 1958
Reel 307, Item 7
The Orphan Girl
A home! a home! a little girl pled At the door of a princely hall,
As she trembling stood on the polished steps And leant on the marble wall.
My father, alas, I never knew,
As the tears dimmed her eyes so bright,
My mother sleeps in a new-made grave,
'Tis an orphan thet begs tonight.
Her clothes were thin and her feet were bare,
And the snow had covered her head,
Oh give me a home, she feebly said,
A home and a piece of bread.
'Twas cold and dark and the snow fell fast,
But the rich man shut his door,
And his proud lips curled as he rudely said,
Ho home, no bread for the poor.
I must freeze, she said, alas, as she sank On the steps of the rich man's door,
And strove to wrap her feet in her dress
All covered with sleet and snow.
The hours passed by, and the midnight bell Tolled out like a funeral knell,
And the earth seemed wrapped in a winding sheet,
And the drifting snow still fell.
The rich man lay on his velvet couch And dreamed of his silver and gold,
And the little girl on her bed of snow Murmured Cold, so cold, so cold.
The morning came and the little girl Still lay at the rich man's door,
But her soul had fled to her home above Where there's room and bread for the poor.
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