I had often heard the song before，and always with lively delight; for Bessie had a sweet voice,- at least，I thought so. But now，though her voice was still sweet，I found in its melody an indescribable sadness. Sometimes，preoccupied with her work，she sang the refrain very low，very lingeringly; "A long time ago" came out like the saddest cadence of a funeral hymn. She passed into another ballad，this time a really doleful one.

"My feet they are sore，and my limbs they are weary; Long is the way，and the mountains are wild; Soon will the twilight close moonless and dreary Over the path of the poor orphan child. Why did they send me so far and so lonely，Up where the moors spread and grey rocks are piled? Men are hard-hearted，and kind angels only Watch o"er the steps of a poor orphan child. Yet distant and soft the night breeze is blowing，Clouds there are none，and clear stars beam mild，God，in His mercy，protection is showing，fort and hope to the poor orphan child.

Ev"n should I fall o"er the broken bridge passing，Or stray in the marshes，by false lights beguiled，Still will my Father，with promise and blessing，Take to His bosom the poor orphan child.

There is a thought that for strength should avail me，Though both of shelter and kindred despoiled; Heaven is a home，and a rest will not fail me; God is a friend to the poor orphan child."