Classic Poem

THE cold wind blows
O'er the drifted snows,
Loud howls the rain'd-lash'd naked wood,
Weary I stray,
On my lonesome way,
And my heart is faint with want of food.
Pity a wretch left all forlorn,
On life's wide wintry waste to mourn;
The gloom of night fast veils the sky,
And pleads for your humanity,

On valour's bed
My Henry died,
In the cheerless desert is his tomb;
Now lost to joy
With my little boy,
In woe and want I wander home.
O never, never will you miss
The boon bestow'd on deep distress,
For dear to heaven is the glist'ning eye,
That beams benign humanity.