THE ORPHANS.

Two orphans were they ; one a girl
Upon whose rounded face

Some nine short Springs, or more, had shed
A meek and modest grace.

Still fewer suns had tinged the brow
And light locks of the other,
Yet one same mournful aspect marked
The sister and the brother.

Homely and rude the garb they wore,
And old nor over-warm;

'Twas barely what sufficed to shield
Their young backs from the storm.

A rich man's child had scorned to don
The blanket coarse and gray

That wrapped the young girl's flaxen head,
And hid its locks away.

The kirtle, too, so short and scant

One surely must be poor,

And all unused to fashion's ways,
Such garments to endure!

The cap, of fashion so uncouth;
The heavy, clouted shoes;

The coat and hose a world too wide

The meek alone would choose.

Thus, hand in hand, they paced the streets Of Hamburg's ancient town;

The shortened day had fled away,

The evening shades come down.

Loud creaked the snow beneath their feet,
And, drifting from the roof,

Wove on their eyebrows and their hair
A white and shining woof.

From sill and cornice, long and white,

The icicles hung down,

While shrill and wild the wintry blast,
Swept piping through the town.

The wanderers drew their garments close
About the shivering form,

And bravely clapped their naked hands
And strove to keep them warm.

Great lights shone out from stately rooms

Across their way so drear,

And hurrying men a moment paused
To wonder who they were.

In one proud mansion broad and high,

With hearthstone warm and bright,

A lady by the window stood

And gazed out on the night.

Against the frosty pane she prest,
Her forehead smooth and high,
And wondered who, on such a night,
There might be passing by.

Her own slight shadow lay far out
Athwart the lighted snow,

And two fair children there gazed up,
below.

With large, sad eyes,

Out to the door with hurrying feet
And pitying heart she flew,
And in beside the blazing hearth
The weary wanderers drew.

"Now who are you who roam the streets On such a freezing night?

Your robes are old, your hands are bare, Your hair with frost is white."

"We are two orphans. Underneath
The lonesome churchyard sod
Our parents sleep and people tell

That they're gone home to God.

We wander round from street to street, Without a friend to say,

'Poor children come with me and sit

By my warm hearth to day!'"

Fast flowed the lady's tears, as thus

The mournful tale she heard,

And in her heart a troubled fount

Of long-kept grief was stirred.

"Poor lone ones! God from earth has called

Your parents to the sky,

And where yon church-cross shadow falls

All my fair children lie.

"So come and sit beside my hearth And slumber by my side,

For God has sent you to replace

My little ones that died!"

C. M. SAWYER.