Poems (Odom)/These Little Ones
THESE LITTLE ONES.
Written in behalf of the Orphans of St. Mary's Asylum, Galveston, Texas.
Fond mothers, who hold to your bosom to-night,
Your bright, dimpled cherubs so tenderly dear;
As you smooth the bright curls from the forehead so white,
And look in those eyes so bewitchingly clear,
Your bright, dimpled cherubs so tenderly dear;
As you smooth the bright curls from the forehead so white,
And look in those eyes so bewitchingly clear,
Have you never a thought for the little ones left
Alone in a world that is drearily cold?
Of motherly tenderness sadly bereft,
Like shivering lambs far away from the fold?
Alone in a world that is drearily cold?
Of motherly tenderness sadly bereft,
Like shivering lambs far away from the fold?
Have you never a wish in your innermost heart
To gather these little ones close to your breast,
From the wealth of your plenty to spare them a part
That angels may whisper your name to the blest,
To gather these little ones close to your breast,
From the wealth of your plenty to spare them a part
That angels may whisper your name to the blest,
In robes that are costly and daintily rare,
You look on your children with motherly pride—
Oh! womanly heart, have you nothing to spare
For the poor little ragged one standing aside?
You look on your children with motherly pride—
Oh! womanly heart, have you nothing to spare
For the poor little ragged one standing aside?
Standing aside in his stockingless feet,
Watching these happier children go by;
Lingering there in the dust of the street
With a quivering lip and a tear in his eye.
Watching these happier children go by;
Lingering there in the dust of the street
With a quivering lip and a tear in his eye.
But God and the angels are hovering near;
They look on his poverty, see all your pride—
They weigh in the balance each passionate tear
That falls all unheeded so close to your side.
They look on his poverty, see all your pride—
They weigh in the balance each passionate tear
That falls all unheeded so close to your side.
Then pity these lonely ones shorn of the love
That only a mother's heart ever can give;
The cup from your hand is recorded above
In letters whose brightness forever shall live.
That only a mother's heart ever can give;
The cup from your hand is recorded above
In letters whose brightness forever shall live.
Uphold the brave "Sisters," who daily deny
Their hearts every tie that a woman holds dear,
With never a murmur and never a sigh,
To shelter these little ones tenderly here.
Their hearts every tie that a woman holds dear,
With never a murmur and never a sigh,
To shelter these little ones tenderly here.
But Poverty lies like a blight on their door,
And Want lays upon them her skeleton hand;
To you who are rich we appeal for the poor,
For the motherless ones of our glorious land.
And Want lays upon them her skeleton hand;
To you who are rich we appeal for the poor,
For the motherless ones of our glorious land.