The Orphan

By Ann Taylor

MY father and mother are dead,
Nor friend, nor relation I know;
And now the cold earth is their bed,
And daisies will over them grow.

I cast my eyes into the tomb,
The sight made me bitterly cry;
I said, “And is this the dark room,
Where my father and mother must lie?”

I cast my eyes round me again,
In hopes some protector to see;
Alas! but the search was in vain,
For none had compassion on me.

I cast my eyes up to the sky,
I groan’d, though I said not a word;
Yet GOD was not deaf to my cry,
The Friend of the fatherless heard.

For since I have trusted his care,
And learn’d on his word to depend,
He has kept me from every snare,
And been my best Father and Friend.

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