Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton :: :: University of Virginia Library

A little boy sat by a rippling brook,
And as he sat, he tried, with line and hook,
To catch a fish, but no fish could he see;
He tried and tried awhile—then, looking up, saw me.

“My child,” said I, “you must put up your hook;
There are no fishes in this little brook.”
Then, as he looked at me, he smiled a mournful smile;
Said he, “I have been here a long, long while.

“I have no home, no friends, no food, no bed,
No place whereon to lay my weary head;
My drunken father turned me from his door;
The heaven's the ceiling of my house, the earth here is the floor.”

“My boy,” said I, “you may come home with me,
My home a pleasant home to you shall be.”
Then he got up and gratefully took my hand;
“And will you be to me,” said he, “a friend?”

“Your father has forsaken you, you have no other friend,
And I, most cheerfully, to you a helping hand will lend.”
There rested on his countenance a very grateful look,
And he is happy now, although by his father is forsook.

Ye drunken parents, oh! beware
How you deprive your children of your care;
Ye sell yourselves to buy that poisonous rum,
And turn your own, own children from their home.