 | Songs in many keys |  |
217
A WAIF OF THE STREETS.
He was cold, the shoeless child, as he ran down the wintry street,
And the wind blew keenly against him, and the rain fell fast, and the sleet;
He was ragged, and scantily clad, with a sad face, wan and thin,
And in all the great Christian city there was no one to take him in.
And the wind blew keenly against him, and the rain fell fast, and the sleet;
He was ragged, and scantily clad, with a sad face, wan and thin,
And in all the great Christian city there was no one to take him in.
He had lost the sweet look of childhood, seemed old beyond his years,
And his great blue eyes 'neath their lashes appeared no strangers to tears.
Poor boy! as he passed me, I thought he could be no older than eight,
And were these hard streets and their vices to be his terrible fate?
And his great blue eyes 'neath their lashes appeared no strangers to tears.
Poor boy! as he passed me, I thought he could be no older than eight,
And were these hard streets and their vices to be his terrible fate?
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Hundreds were pressing about him, but he was alone, alone!
He had not a friend in the world, not one to claim as his own;
His father, drunkard and thief, in dread of the law had fled;
His mother had failed in the struggle for life, and was dead.
He had not a friend in the world, not one to claim as his own;
His father, drunkard and thief, in dread of the law had fled;
His mother had failed in the struggle for life, and was dead.
So the child was sent adrift, and used through the thoroughfares roam,
His only friend the police, who often gave him a home,
At least, for the night; but nobody knew or could tell
How he lived; he had nothing, no, not even a match to sell.
His only friend the police, who often gave him a home,
At least, for the night; but nobody knew or could tell
How he lived; he had nothing, no, not even a match to sell.
He was off at the glimmer of dawn, ere well had broken the day,
And only came back with night, when the shadows fell long and grey;
He never slept in a bed, but lay down on the cold stone floor,
Or crept to a place near the stove, or a corner close to the door.
And only came back with night, when the shadows fell long and grey;
He never slept in a bed, but lay down on the cold stone floor,
Or crept to a place near the stove, or a corner close to the door.
For houseless, like the Saviour, he had nowhere to lay his head,
And early cast out in the morning, he begged or he stole his bread;
Living as best he was able all through the wintry day,
And drifting back with the evening tide, like wrack tossed on the spray.
And early cast out in the morning, he begged or he stole his bread;
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And drifting back with the evening tide, like wrack tossed on the spray.
It was Christmas-time, and the houses were all ablaze with light,
And the shops were decked with holly, and berries were gleaming bright;
There was singing, and feasting, and laughter, and gladness, and mirth,
And bells were ringing to call men to praise for the Saviour's birth.
And the shops were decked with holly, and berries were gleaming bright;
There was singing, and feasting, and laughter, and gladness, and mirth,
And bells were ringing to call men to praise for the Saviour's birth.
What was Christmas to him? Ah! what was that wonderful morn,
Which brings the glad tidings that Christ of the Virgin was born?
He had no one to tell him of Jesus—no one to teach him to praise;
What to the Christians around them were the city's waifs and strays?
Which brings the glad tidings that Christ of the Virgin was born?
He had no one to tell him of Jesus—no one to teach him to praise;
What to the Christians around them were the city's waifs and strays?
I said, as he ran with bare feet over the London flags,
And the keen winter's wind whistled cold through his thin and wretched rags:
“My boy, you are hungry; would you like a dinner, poor child?”
He looked up in my face, half-doubting—looked for a moment and smiled.
And the keen winter's wind whistled cold through his thin and wretched rags:
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He looked up in my face, half-doubting—looked for a moment and smiled.
Then he answered me, “Sir, I am hungry; I haven't broke fast all day;
Do give me something for bread, sir—a penny—I can buy it over the way.”
And hope came into his eyes, while across the wan thin face
Spread a blush that lent to its pallor a new and beautiful grace.
Do give me something for bread, sir—a penny—I can buy it over the way.”
And hope came into his eyes, while across the wan thin face
Spread a blush that lent to its pallor a new and beautiful grace.
So I took the shivering child,—this exile from all men's fold—
Hungry-eyed, with his little face sunken and wan, I took the boy from the cold,
And I brought him at once to the “Robins’” Home, and gave him a dinner there,
With many a starving outcast from the noisy street and square.
Hungry-eyed, with his little face sunken and wan, I took the boy from the cold,
And I brought him at once to the “Robins’” Home, and gave him a dinner there,
With many a starving outcast from the noisy street and square.
And oh! what a pleasure it was to see these poor little ones eat!
I know not a joy in the world could be purer, or half so sweet;
And to teach them in kindly words of a Father who from above
Looks down on all in His pity, and tells us that He is “Love!”
I know not a joy in the world could be purer, or half so sweet;
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Looks down on all in His pity, and tells us that He is “Love!”
To tell them of Jesus the Saviour, born at this Christmastime,
Whose goodness and mercy peal out in each sweet and silver chime
Of the clashing bells that ring from the tall church close by,
And lift up the heart and the hope to the mansions of glory on high.
Whose goodness and mercy peal out in each sweet and silver chime
Of the clashing bells that ring from the tall church close by,
And lift up the heart and the hope to the mansions of glory on high.
Well, I placed that poor boy in a Home, under the tenderest care,
And I saved the child from the sin which brings with it woe and despair;
No more is he outcast, or lies 'neath a cruel social ban,
But he knows, and he does, his duty—does it well to God and man.
And I saved the child from the sin which brings with it woe and despair;
No more is he outcast, or lies 'neath a cruel social ban,
But he knows, and he does, his duty—does it well to God and man.
Oh, my brothers! my sisters! there's many a waif and stray
You may rescue from sin and sorrow, as you pass along the way
That leads to Christ and to peace, and on to the golden door,
Which shall close 'gainst sin and sorrow, and shut them out evermore.
You may rescue from sin and sorrow, as you pass along the way
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Which shall close 'gainst sin and sorrow, and shut them out evermore.
Oh come ye that love your children, and would keep them undefiled,
Come, and take into your pity the starving and shoeless child;
Teach him, oh teach him of Jesus, and at last He will say to thee,
“As ye did to the least of these little ones, ye did it also to Me.”
Come, and take into your pity the starving and shoeless child;
Teach him, oh teach him of Jesus, and at last He will say to thee,
“As ye did to the least of these little ones, ye did it also to Me.”
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