Poetical fragments of the late Richard Alfred Millikin with an authentic memoir of his life |
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THE BEGGAR BOY |
 | Poetical fragments of the late Richard Alfred Millikin |  |
THE BEGGAR BOY
Relieve a hapless child of want,
Whose breast ne'er feels one throb of joy;
A slender boon in pity grant,
To help a wretched beggar boy.—
Whose breast ne'er feels one throb of joy;
A slender boon in pity grant,
To help a wretched beggar boy.—
The heir to misery and scorn,
I first inhaled this vital air;
Thus to inherit sorrow born,
My hopeless lot I still must bear.—
I first inhaled this vital air;
Thus to inherit sorrow born,
My hopeless lot I still must bear.—
The birds that roost on every tree,
Their feathers all from cold defend;
The cattle shelter'd too we see,
For bounteous nature is their friend.—
Their feathers all from cold defend;
The cattle shelter'd too we see,
For bounteous nature is their friend.—
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But wretched I, no shelter find
The poor are friendless every way,
From summer's heat, or wintry wind;
No friendly roof invites my stay.
The poor are friendless every way,
From summer's heat, or wintry wind;
No friendly roof invites my stay.
These rags I wear but ill supply,
That want which nature bids me feel;
I cannot from misfortune fly,
But must endure each change of ill.
That want which nature bids me feel;
I cannot from misfortune fly,
But must endure each change of ill.
I'm spurn'd by the scornful brow,
And pamper'd wealth disdains my cry;
They mock the wants they never know,
And jest on grief with tearless eye.
And pamper'd wealth disdains my cry;
They mock the wants they never know,
And jest on grief with tearless eye.
Ah!—fortune changes many a way,
Unwarned gusts oft vex the tide;
An hour may dull the brightest day,
Or sink the haughty crest of pride.
Unwarned gusts oft vex the tide;
An hour may dull the brightest day,
Or sink the haughty crest of pride.
O you, whose hearts of tender mold,
Keep pity as an inmate there;
To you my piteous tale is told,
To you who feel what others bear.
Keep pity as an inmate there;
To you my piteous tale is told,
To you who feel what others bear.
Then grant the little boon I ask,
For little serves the child of care;
To heaven I'll pray (a pleasing task)
That you may be rewarded there.
For little serves the child of care;
To heaven I'll pray (a pleasing task)
That you may be rewarded there.
| Poetical fragments of the late Richard Alfred Millikin | |