She is a pretty little lass,
Half human, half divine;

And for an angel she would pass
In Heaven's lovely clime.

Her hair is locks of flowing gold,
Her ways are cute and wise;

And her form is lithe and graceful,
With pretty bright blue eyes.

Her manners are just perfect.
Her nature kind and true;

She is a real philanthropist
When charity is due.

She strives to cheer those sad at heart,
And well she does succeed;

And stays the ever painful dart
That often fate does speed.

How different from so many folk
Who frown upon the one

Who, by some simple words he spoke,
Caused "crime" to have been done.

Although the cruel knife of fate
Has made an awful wound,

In her kind words, that come but late,
Sweet balm for sorrow's found.

Oh, that this wicked, wicked world
Could boast more such friendly souls!

Less lives would be so sadly hurled
Into a pit of earthly ghouls,

Where nothing's saved, but all is lost;

And where man's cast, at any cost,
Into a dismal, prison dell—
A gloomy, dreary, earthly hell!

Come, of such friends arise and sing,
With thanks returned to heaven's king!

*****