The Hillsborough Recorder

From the Boston Recorder.

THE ORPHAN.

I once had a home, 'twas a cradle of peace,
Twas the birth-place of many a pleasure,
'Twas a fountain whose streamlet I thought
ne'er would cease,
For the smile of content was my treasure.

I had parents, the best that kind heaven e'er
sent,
To guide my young footsteps from sorrow;
I dream'd not, that blessings at evening are
lent,
And recall'd by the donor to-morrow.

I had friends without number, my hours to
beguile,
And to cheer me when health was declining:
I knew not, deception oft lurks in a smile,
And is found o'er the death-bed reclining.

My morn shone with splendour, and brilliant
the skies,
Not a doubt that my day would be pleasant;
Not a voice ever whisper'd the storm might
arise,
Or that pleasures like mine could be transient.

But scarce had I gazed on the sun of my youth,
Or a moment indulged in the vision,
Ere death drew the veil, and pointed this truth,
That my pleasure was all a delusion.

My parents, who watch'd with anxiety's eye,
Were call'd in the cold grave to slumber
The dread king of terrors had drown'd the
last sigh,
And burst the "gold cordage" asunder.

Not a mother, or sister, to mingle their tears,
I long since have wept o'er their coffin;
Not a voice of a friend to banish my fears,
For poverty dwelt with the orphan.

Alone, unfriended, a child of despair,
All nature seem'd shrouded in sorrow—
I wish'd not a home in this wide world of care,
I ask'd not to stay while the morrow.

At this moment, a light like the sun burst the
gloom,
And dispel'd every cloud of my vision,
It shone with the brightest effulgence of noon;
Thanks to God! 'twas the light of Religion.

'Tis a "pillar of fire" to cheer my lone way,
And illumine my footsteps at even;
'Tis a cloud never failing to guide me by day,
And point me the path-way to heaven.

Now I laugh at the world, I fear not her snares,
I ask not her smiles on the orphan;
"For the grave there's a refuge" to hide me
from cares;
"And in heaven, a home" for the christian.