The Orphan's Cry

Orphan! I am more than orphaned:
     Death is sweeter than life's blight;
Shame and evil bring bereaval, 
For which life sends no retrieval;
     Through the grave alone breaks light.

Who will give me back my father, 
     Reeling to a drunkard's grave!
Falling, falling, down the appalling 
Black abyss, where no calling
     Angel's voice can reach to save?

Who will soothe me for my mother—
     Worn and wearied out of life—
Who departed, broken-hearted, 
In the bitter pangs that darted 
     From that word—a drunkard's wife!

Will the gold of evil commerce
     Bring my fallen brother back?
He was tender of his slender
"Birdie," and her proud defender,
     Till the curse came, hot and black.

Where is flown my sunny childhood?
     Where the little tender ways?
Mother's kisses, warm caresses,
All the daily love that blesses
     The young life that round me plays? 

Knowledge is a path forbidden, 
     Toil's reward and honor's prize;
Fly my flaunting rags, like haunting 
Dreams at morning's disenchanting,
     And my hope within me dies.

Oh! they say the rulers will it, 
     And the land sells life for gain;
That the bleeding orphan's pleading, 
And the good man's interceding,
     Vainly fall as desert rain!

But the cloud that feeds no greenness
     Gather's lightning from the air, 
That burns under, soon in thunder, 
To smite power and pride asunder 
     With a swift, consuming glare.

Can the wealth of wicked Divès
     Blind the watching eye of God?
Must his victim still protect him?
May his dogs have torn or licked him!
     Never! he shall feel the rod!