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The Orphan Post by :apax999 Category :Poems Author :Lydia H. Sigourney Date :November 2011 Read :3504

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The Orphan

I love 'mid those green mounds to stray
Where purple violets creep,
For there the village children say
That both my parents sleep.

Bright garlands there I often make
Of thyme and daisies fair,
And when my throbbing temples ache,
I go and rest me there.

If angry voices harshly chide,
Or threatening words are said,
I love to lay me by their side
Close in that silent bed.

I wish'd a sportive lamb to bide
My coming o'er the lea.
It broke away and bleating cried,
"My mother waits for me."

"Stay, stay, sweet bird!" On pinion strong
It fled with dazzling breast,
And soon I heard its matron song
Amid its chirping nest.

"Why dost thou fade, young bud of morn,
And hide thy drooping gem?"
And the bud answered, "They have torn
Me from my parent stem."

Go happy warbler to thy bower,
White lambkin, gambol free,
I'll save this lone and wither'd flower,
It seems to pity me.

"Come mother, come! and soothe thy child!"
Methinks I hear her sigh,
"Cold clods are on my bosom pil'd,
And darkness seals my eye."

She cannot burst the chain of fate
By which her limbs are pressed.
"Dear father rise! and lift the weight
That loads my mother's breast."

In vain I speak, in vain the tear
Bedews the mouldering clay,
My deep complaint they do not hear,
I may not longer stay.

Yet ere I go, I'll kneel and say
The humble prayer they taught,
When by their side at closing day
I breath'd my infant thought.

God will not leave my heart to break,
The Orphan He'll defend,
Father and mother may forsake,
But He's the Unchanging Friend.

(The end)
Lydia H. Sigourney's poem: Orphan

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