Weary travellers are we,
And our word is briefly spoken;
We must lean on charity,
For our “stay and staff” is broken.
We are widows;—o’er the dead
Oft we bend, to feed our sorrow;
But the grave can give no bread,
And we have none for to-morrow.
We are fatherless;—the crowd
Passes by and does not heed us.
We are hungry;—but the proud
Shelter not, nor clothe, nor feed us.
From our loved and lost ones parted,
We are journeying on alone.
We are sick and broken-hearted,—
For our hearts were not of stone.
We would gladly serve you, neighbour,
Could we earn the coarsest meal;
But, we ‘re yet too young to labor;—
Must we starve,—or, must we steal?
We’ll do neither!—there are, round us,
Pitying hearts and willing hands;
Woman’s melting eye has found us;
She beside us pleading stands.
Our fair friends, here, have been vying
With each other in our aid,
Night and day their needles plying,—
See, what charming things they’ve made!
Let us lead you to this table,
By their fairy fingers dressed;—
As you stand here, you’ll be able
To look round on all the rest.
This young lady is our sister;—
Is n’t this a rare display?
There! we knew you’d not resist her;—
Pray you, Madam, step this way.
This good woman is our mother,
For a mother’s heart is hers.
All good people help each other,
All are thus God’s ministers.
Friends, we have been faint and weary
Travellers on life’s thorny way;
But our path looks now less dreary;
Sunshine falls upon ‘t to-day.
Love’s warm sunshine! How resplendent
Art thou to the Orphan boy,
Whom thou makest Independent,
On this day of general joy!
(John Pierpont)
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