 | Poems by Lydia H. Sigourney |  |
249
THE ORPHAN'S TRUST.
“When my father and my mother forsake me, thou the Lord will take me up.”—
David.
He, who around my infant steps,
A firm protection threw,
Whose prayers upon my head distill'd,
Like summer's holy dew,—
The staff hath fallen from his hand,
The mantle from his breast,
And underneath the church-yard mould
He takes a quiet rest.
A firm protection threw,
Whose prayers upon my head distill'd,
Like summer's holy dew,—
The staff hath fallen from his hand,
The mantle from his breast,
And underneath the church-yard mould
He takes a quiet rest.
And she, who at each cradle-moan,
At every childish fear,—
At every fleeting trace of pain
Stood, full of pity near;—
Who to her fondly-cherish'd child
Such deep affection bore,
She too, hath given the parting kiss,
And must return no more.
At every childish fear,—
At every fleeting trace of pain
Stood, full of pity near;—
Who to her fondly-cherish'd child
Such deep affection bore,
She too, hath given the parting kiss,
And must return no more.
250
And therefore, unto Thee I turn.
The never-changing Friend,
Whose years eternal cannot fail,
Whose mercies have no end;
Thro' all my pilgrim path below,
A Father deign to be,
And show that mother's tender love.
Who hath forsaken me.
The never-changing Friend,
Whose years eternal cannot fail,
Whose mercies have no end;
Thro' all my pilgrim path below,
A Father deign to be,
And show that mother's tender love.
Who hath forsaken me.
| Poems by Lydia H. Sigourney | |