Song

Child, is thy father dead?
Father is gone!
Why did they tax his bread?
God's will be done!
Mother has sold her bed!
Better to die than wed!
Where shall she lay her head?
Home we have none!

Father clamm'd thrice a week —
God's will be done!
Long for work did he seek,
Work he found none.
Tears on his hollow cheek
Told what no tongue could speak:
Why did his master break?
God's will be done!

Doctor said air was best —
Food we had none;
Father, with panting breast,
Groan'd to be gone:
Now he is with the blest —
Mother says death is best!
We have no place of rest —
Yes, ye have one!