The Sick Orphan

'Twas at the close of a warm summer's day,
We spread our orphan's couch in the sweet air;
And she was happy as the healthiest there;
While, with each changing posture, as she lay,
A star, that lurk'd within the whispering firs,
Look'd forth upon her, glistening tenderly;
'How like,' she said, ' a mother's watchful eye,
'That wakes and brightens, when her infant stirs!'
She loved God's world, that maiden meek and mild;
She challenged kith and kin on every hand,
Like Francis of Assisi — that dear child
Spoke sisterly of flowers and song-birds wild;
Till every listener lost his self-command,
And o'er her dying love-notes wept and smiled!