  I have not a cent in the world, And I’ve left my father’s home Out in the hard world to wander, Friendless, poor, and alone. I have sought in vain for a place To earn my daily bread, A shelter from the winter’s storm, And a place to lay my head. But cold are the bosoms I meet, Aye, cold as the drifting snow; I’m turned away from their doors, And I know not where to go. All day I’ve struggled along Through the weary wastes of snow, And I’m tired almost to death, But who will care now, or know? The night is closing around me, And fierce is the angry sky; I’m hungry and faint and helpless— Must I sink by the way and die? That thoughts of my childhood’s days Should pass like a dream before me In all their innocent ways. Ah! sunny home by the hillside, Song-birds of the long ago, I hear your glad, wild, sweet singing, And the murmuring brooklet’s flow. Ah! happy days in the wildwood, Revelling in nature’s bowers; Bluest skies, and soft wind sighing ’Mid the tall trees and flowers. Ah! songs I sang with my mother At evening’s golden glow, Voices of father and brother, Why are ye haunting me so? Ah! years that came with temptation, And lured me away from right, Till hope was gone, and in frenzy I fled from its wiles in fright. Weep, hearts, for there on the morrow, By the sun’s wan light ye may trace His weary way, and find there Frozen tears on his poor dead face. God in His infinite mercy Knew when all hope was slain, And closed his eyes, and in pity Relieved him from earthly pain. |
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