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The Poor Orphan Child

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The Poor Orphan Child

I hear a low faint voice of death call full and mamma's dead

And it comes from the poor orphan child that must be clothed and fed

And it calls from the poor orphan child that must be clothed and fed

And it calls from the poor orphan child that must be clothed and fed

 

Savior lead them by the hand (Gently lead them by the hand)

Savior lead them by the hand (Gently lead them by the hand)

Savior lead them by the hand

Till they all reach that glittering strand

 

They call from mended children mouths (?) poor little boys and girls

Who once had loved their loving hands to smooth their golden curls

Who wanted mothers loving hands to smooth their golden curls

Who wanted mothers loving hands to smooth their golden curls

 

But now we see those wandering curls hang gallop round their brow

They say to us my pappa's dead and I've no mother now

They say to us my pappa's dead and I've no mother now

They say to us my pappa's dead and I've no mother now

 

Oh savior every orphan breath wherever they may roam

Bless every hand that leaves them aid and bless the orphan home

Bless every hand that leaves them aid and bless the orphan home

Bless every hand that leaves them aid and bless the orphan home

Thanks to Nathan Sarvis Denton County, Texas U.S.A. for the following corrected version:

 

Saviour, Lead them (Orphans)
Dedicated to the Orphans Homes of Texas
Words by H. W. Elliott
Music by Emmett S. Dean
Copyright 1898 by Elliott & Dean

I hear a low faint voice that says, “Papa and mamma’s dead,”
And it comes from the poor orphan child, That must be clothed and fed.
And it comes from the poor orphan child, That must be clothed and fed;
And it comes from the poor orphan child, That must be clothed and fed.

Saviour, lead  .  .  .  .  .  .  . them by the hand
(Saviour, lead them by the hand, yes, gently lead them by the hand)
Saviour, lead  .  .  .  .  .  .  . them by the hand
(Saviour, lead them by the hand, yes, gently lead them by the hand)
Saviour, lead  .  .  .  .  .  .  . them by the hand
(Saviour, lead them by the hand, yes, gently lead them by the hand)
Till they all reach the glittering strand.
                                                    Glittering strand.

Think of the many children now, Poor little boys and girls
Who once had mothers loving hands, To smooth their golden curls.
Who once had mothers loving hands, To smooth their golden curls.
Who once had mothers loving hands, To smooth their golden curls.

But now we see those once trained curls, Hang careless round their brow;
They say to us, “My papa’s dead, And I’ve no mother now.”
They say to us, “My papa’s dead, And I’ve no mother now;”
They say to us, “My papa’s dead, And I’ve no mother now.”

O! Saviour, ev’ry orphan bless, Where-ever they may roam,
Bless ev’ry hand that lends them aid, And bless the Orphans Home.
Bless ev’ry hand that lends them aid, And bless the Orphans Home;
Bless ev’ry hand that lends them aid, And bless the Orphans Home.







E-Book - An Annotated Compendium of Old Time American Songs by James Alverson III