The fatherless and widow, Lord,
Find hope and comfort in this word,
Which in thy Holy Book they see,-
'Leave all thy fatherless to me.'
This checks the dying husband's sigh,
As on his wife he turns his eye,
Who, at his bed-side bends her knee,-
'And let thy widows trust in me.'
'Thy Maker is thy husband;'-this
Soothes the keen anguish of the kiss,
Pressed by the wife upon his brow,
Who answers not to 'Husband!' now.
'Orphans and fatherless are we,
Our mothers widows!'-Thus, of old,
Did Zion's children plead with Thee;
And still that mournful tale is told.
But He hath come, who to his breast
Clasped such forsaken ones and blessed.
Here, Lord, are children left alone;-
Help us to clasp them to our own.
And bless thy servant, Lord, whose ear
These orphans' thanks can never hear,-
Thanks, that, although his eyes are dim,
They have a father found in him.
Time, with his softly falling sand,
Hath closed his ear, but not his hand.
Lord, when that sand shall all have run,
Shall he not hear 'Well done! Well done!'
Father of all, our hope, our trust!
When we are sleeping in the dust,
Let others rise, to soothe and bless
The widow and the fatherless.