William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
The Sailor’s OrphansThomas Mac Kellar
Girl.M
O, hold me with your hand;
The sky and trees are running round;
I can no longer stand.
For you I’m sure I’d die;
Rest on this bank, and let your head
Upon my bosom lie.
When will our journey end?
I’m weary, hungry, sick, and sad—
Where shall we find a friend?
That God a friend will be
To those who seek him in their need—
And this now comforts me.—
Two little orphans we,
With none to love us in the world,
And not a friend but Thee!—
But let us trust in God;
For he will watch us, while we sleep
Upon this dewy sod.
The night is coming fast;
Hie quickly to your happy home,
Before the day is past.
Deep buried in the ground;
Our father sail’d upon the seas,
And in a storm was drown’d.
When dreadful winds did blow;
And this broke our kind mother’s heart—
And laid her body low.
They bore her corpse away;
And we have come along this road,
E’er since the break of day.
We know not where to go;
But God will not let orphans starve
Our mother told us so.
I will your father be;
I’ve no one on this earth to love—
Then come along with me!
How soon our griefs have fled!
O, let us praise His holy name—
’Tis just as mother said!
Sit firm, my little ones;
And food and shelter soon we’ll find,
For like the wind he runs.
That dimly comes to sight,
Is where our tender parents lived,
When all our hearts were light.
Who promises to keep
All those who put their trust in Him
Awake, or when asleep.——
—The sun is rising in the east;
Rise, children, from your bed;
Again partake, with gratitude,
The bounties God hath spread.
That spot I fain would see.
Boy.’Twas here they laid her form, beneath
This weeping willow tree.
I’ll turn aside and weep,
While o’er my pensive mind awhile
Its early memories creep.
The tears his cheeks bedew!
O, let us love him, for it seems
He loved our mother too.
Sit near me on this mound,
While I a simple tale shall tell,
Upon this holy ground.
The night was pitchy dark,
When furious winds upon the rocks
Dash’d your poor father’s bark.
Amid the surge’s roar,
Upon a fragment of the wreck
He floated to the shore.
Came down, like beasts of prey,
And bore him o’er the desert’s sands
To slavery away.
The burden of a slave
To cruel Arabs, till he sigh’d
For refuge in the grave.
To one who wander’d wide,
And oft across the burning sands,
Where every rill is dried.
Some Christian men agreed
To pay the ransom-price, for which
The captive should be freed.
In haste, to reach his home;
“And never more will I,” he cried,
“From kin and country roam.”
To New York’s noble bay;
He sprang ashore, and to his home
He swiftly urged his way.
Two little ones he met,
Reposing on the verdant grass,
By dews of evening wet.
His heart yearn’d o’er them, as they told
The touching woes they knew——
B. & G.The children we! It is! it is!—
Dear father! it is you!