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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.