ORPHAN BOY. 233
Then he, who gave, with prayers, The body to the dust, when the last rite Was over, turned, with sympathizing look, And said :
" Poor boy, your mother will not sleep In this cold bed forever. No ! as sure A> the sweet flowers, which now the frost hath chilled, Shall hear the call of Spring, and the dry grass Put on fresh greenness, she shall rise again, And live a life of joy."
Bleak Autumn winds Swept through the rustling leaves, and seemed to
pierce
The shivering orphan, as he bowed him down All desolate, to look into the pit, Till from the group a kindly matron came, And led him thence.
When Spring, returning, threw 1 1 t-r trembling colors o er the wakened earth, I wandered there again. A timid step F 11 on my ear, and that poor orphan child ( ami- from his mother s grave. Paler he d grown Since last I saw him, and his little feet With frequent tread, had worn the herbage down To a deep, narrow path. lie started thence, And would have fled away. But when I said That I had stood beside him while they put His mother in the grave, he nearer drew, Inquiring eagerly,
" Then did you hear The minister, who always speaks the truth,
�� �
