“They tell me that my mother’s sleeping
In the church-yard far away,
That she knows not I am weeping--
Weeping all the live long day.
“They tell me that my father’s lying
In the dark grave by her side;
That I’m left on life’s rough billow
With no earthly friend or guide.
“When the wild woods echo loudly,
And the merry songsters sing,
When the winds are hurrying past me
With sweet music on their wings,
“Methinks I hear my mother calling,
And her grave I long to find;
But there’s no one here to lead me,
For the orphan boy is blind.”
He now sleeps within that church-yard
Where he ofttimes long’d to be;
Angels bore his soul to heaven,
Now the poor blind boy can see.