The frozen streets in moonshine glitter,
The midnight hour has long been past, -
Ah me! the wind blows keen and bitter,
I sink beneath the piercing blast!
In every vein seems life to languish,
Their weight my limbs no more can bear,
But no one soothes the orphan's anguish,
And no one heeds the orphan's prayer.

Hark!Hark! for surely footsteps near me
Advancing, press the drifted snow;
I die for food; - oh, stranger! hear me -
I die for food - some alms bestow.
You see no guilty wretch implore you,
No wanton pleads, in feigned despair;
A famished orphan kneels before you, -
Oh, grant the famished orphan's prayer.

He's gone! no mercy man will show me,
In prayers no more I'll waste my breath;
Here on the frozen earth  I'll throw me,
And wait, in mute despair, for death.
Farewell, thou cruel world! tomorrow
No more thy scorn my heart shall tear,
The grave will shield the child of sorrow,
And Heaven will hear the orphan's prayer

But thou, proud man, the beggar scorning,
Unmoved, who saw me kneel for bread,
Thy heart shall ache to hear that morning -
That morning found the beggar dead!
And, while the room resouns with laughter,
My famished cry thy heart shall scare;
And often shalt thou wish hereafter
Thou hadst not scorned the orphan's prayer.