Collected by Marvin Wallace Sung by Buck Buttery
For Mary C. Parler Lincoln, Arkansas
Transcribed by Frances Majors August 19, 1958
Reel 282, Item 2
The Orphan Girl
No home, no home, cried a little girl At the door of a princely hall,
As she trembling stood on the polished steps And leaned on the marble wall.
My father, alas, I never knew,
While a tear dimmed her eye so bright;
My mother sleeps in a new-made grave;
It's an orphan who begs tonight.
Her clothes were thin; her feet were bare;
The snow had covered her head.
Oh, give me a home, she feebly cried,
A home and a bit of bread.
It was cold and dark, and the snow fell fast; Yet the rich man shut his door.
With his proud lips curled in scorn, as he said, No room, no bread for the poor.
I must freeze, she said, as she sank And strove to wrap her feet,
With her tattered dress all covered with snow, Yes, covered with snow and sleet.
The hours passed on and the midnight chime Rolled out like/funeral knell, the
While the earth seemed wrapt in a winding sheet And the drifting snow still fell.
The rich man lay in a velvet couch
And dreamed of his silver and gold,
While the little girl lay in her bed of snow And murmured, cold, so cold.
The morning dawned and the orphan child Still lay at the rich man's door;
But her soul had fled to the home above,
Where there's room and bread for the poor.
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