This page has been validated.
8
THE ORPHAN BOY.
No cheering sun-beam's friendly ray,
Shone on the dark and cloudy day,
When I, an outcast from my birth,
Sprung up the humblest flower on earth,
No parent stalk to prop its form,
No shelter from the winter's storm—
Such was the fate, bereft of joy,
Of Theodore, the orphan boy.
'Twas your dear hand, by pity led,
First rais'd the lily's drooping head,
Foster'd the bud bedew'd with tears,
Then saw it blossom into years:
And whilst your smiles such pow'r can give,
Still will it flourish, bloom, and live;
Ah! do not then the hopes destroy
Of Theodore, the orphan boy.
FINIS.
