“Whose child is this that in the wintry storm,
The cutting north-wind, with its snow and ice,
At midnight in the graveyard walks forlorn,
And seeks a grave amidst the snow and ice?”
“Mother, oh my loving mother, hear me,
Your little daughter calls, oh hear me now;
I am forsaken of all men, I see;
Since father died, how wretched I am now.
“Nothing but hunger and neglect are mine;
Look where I will, no friendly face I see;
Oh, look in pity on me, mother mine,
Oh loving mother, let me come to thee.”
The little child wept, and the pearly tears
Froze on her cheeks like diamonds clear and bright;
Upon her mother’s grave she slept, no fears
Came to disturb her, ’twas a sad, sad sight.
The snow fell fast upon the childlike form,
But see, she dreamt a very happy dream;
She heard her mother’s voice, and saw her form
Stoop down to take her—Could it be a dream?
The child slept on, no need now to awake—
In that glad dream the soul had passed away;
Where she had slept they now her grave must make;
Ah! woe is me, it was a sad, sad day.