Forsaken

Oh, if there were in this wide world
One little place at all,
To be my own, my own alone,
My own over all;
Great were the joy, the comfort great,
And me so lone,
With no place in the world to say
"This is my own."

Sad it is to be knowing this,
For any man, and woe,
That there is not in life for him
Liking or love below;
That there is not in the world for him
A hand or a head
That would be doing a turn for him
Alive or dead.

Sharp it is and sorrowful,
And bitter is the grief,
Sad it is and sorrowful
Past all belief.
'Tis all the same how you are
To the passer-by,
'Tis all the same to you, at last,
To live or die.