Friend, I've read thy touching verses
Poured from gentle, loving heart,
Glad that sense of thy own mercies
Gives thee-zeal to act thy part
In bringing sweet, poetic art
To bear upon the orphan's case,
And show as by a sunbeam's trace
How such as he are made to smart.
Would I had thy skill in writing;
I would give thee tribute meet,
Showing those too fond of slighting
Th' orphan's cause, that it is sweet,
Pure modest worth with love to greet,
Though that worth may not appear
In form bedecked in gorgeous gear,
But one in tattered garb complete.
Well indeed hast thou depicted
What the ragged boy endured;
How his soul with grief afflicted
Could alone by One be cured.
O, would that such could be allured
At once to fly to Jesus' arms-
To prove how great are all his charms;
And thus have peace of mind ensured.
Poor dear ragged orphan, weep not;
There is one thy Friend above.
Know then that this Friend will sleep not
But watch over thee in love.
He will thy foes in wrath reprove.
For this he strongly pledged his word,
Which should true comfort thee afford
Till death all thy sad woes remove.
Did thy mother die confiding
In the Saviour's precious blood?
'Neath that covert be thou hiding,
If thy soul would seek its good.
Yes, dearest child, have faith in God,
Then the rich blessings he can give
Will all be thine while thou dost live;
As from the Word is understood.
I would join this friend and others.
Who have hearts and feelings right,
To acknowledge for our brothers
Such as thou; though foulest spite
May be displayed in earnest quite,
By those who are so fond of self
That they cant spare a little pelf
To make your saddened faces bright.
