The snow was falling fast and deep, and cold the North-wind swept;
As the watchman paced his weary beat and the littie orphan wept;
And shivering on the door step, he raised his eyes to where.
Amid the warm And glittering hails, the rich man slumbered there.
Dream on, dream on, tho sleeper, nor heed the tempest's roar.
While the orphan child is weeping in rags beside the door.
Amid the gathering snow-drifts there comes a stalwart form.
That breasts the icy whirlwind and struggles in the storm;
He bends above the outcast, then looks at:ove to where.
Amid the warm And cheerful halls, the rich man slumbered there. -Chorus
Well done! well done, thou watcher! he folds him to his breast.
And within his arms he bears him, where his drooping head may rest;
And in after years his bosom felt no thrill that seemed so sweet,
As the memory of that midnight hour, and the orphan in the street, Chorus.