When a' ither bairnies are
hush'd to their hame,
By aunty, or cousin, or frecky
grand-dame,
Wha stands last an' lanely,
an' sairly forfairn ?
'Tis the puir dowie laddie -
the mitherless bairn !
The mitherless bairnie creeps
to his lane bed,
Nane covers his cauld back, or
haps his bare head ;
His wee hackit heelies are
hard as the airn,
An' lithless the lair o' the
mitherless bairn !
Aneath his cauld brow, siccan
dreams hover there,
O' hands that wont kindly to
kaim his dark hair !
But mornin' brings clutches,
a' reckless an' stern,
That lo'e na the locks o' the
mitherless bairn.
The sister wha sang o'er his
saftly rock'd bed,
Now rests in the mools where
their mammie is laid ;
While the father toils sair
his wee bannock to earn,
An' kens na the wrangs o' his
mitherless bairn.
Her spirit that pass'd in yon
hour of his birth,
Still watches his lone lorn
wand'rings on earth,
Recording in heaven the
blessings they earn,
Wha couthilie deal wi' the
mitherless bairn !
Oh ! speak him na harshly - he
trembles the while,
He bends to your bidding, and
blesses your smile -
In their dark hour o' anguish,
the heartless shall learn,
That God deals the blow for
the mitherless bairn !