Collected by Max Hunter (H—9)
For Mary C. Parler
Transcribed by Frances Majors
Sung by Mrs. Ethel Hunter
June 29, 1958
Reel 251-52, Item 10
The Orphan Girl
No home, no home, pled a little girl
At the door of a princely hall,
As she trembling stood on the marble step
And leaned on the polished wall.
I must freeze, she cried, as she sank on the step
And strove to cover her feet
With her tattered dress all covered with snow,
All covered with snow and sleet.
My father, alas, I never knew,
Tears dimmed her eyes so bright,
My mother sleeps in a newly made grave,
'Tis an orphan that begs tonight.
Her dress was thin and her feet were bare,
And the snow had covered her head;
Oh, give me a home, she feebly cried,
A home and a bite of bread.
Oh, the night was dark and the snow fell fast,
As the rich man closed his door;
And his proud lips curled with scorn, as he said,
No bread, no room for the poor.
The rich man lay on his velvet couch
And dreamed of his silver and gold,
While the orphan girl lay on a bed of snow
And murmured, so cold, so cold.
Oh, the night wore on and the midnight came,
And the drifting snow still fell;
The earch seemed wrapped in a winding sheet
That came like a funeral knell.
Oh, the night wore on and the morning came,
And she lay at the rich man's door;
But her soul had fled to the realms above,
Where there's room and there's bread for the poor.
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