THESE LITTLE ONES.
137
Oh! womanly heart, have you nothing to spare For the poor little ragged one standing aside?
Standing aside in his stockingless feet, Watching these happier children go by;Lingering there in the dust of the street With a quivering lip and a tear in his eye.
But God and the angels are hovering near; They look on his poverty, see all your pride—They weigh in the balance each passionate tear That falls all unheeded so close to your side.
Then pity these lonely ones shorn of the love That only a mother's heart ever can give;The cup from your hand is recorded above In letters whose brightness forever shall live.
Uphold the brave "Sisters," who daily deny Their hearts every tie that a woman holds dear,With never a murmur and never a sigh, To shelter these little ones tenderly here.
But Poverty lies like a blight on their door, And Want lays upon them her skeleton hand;To you who are rich we appeal for the poor, For the motherless ones of our glorious land.
