Classic Poem

The snow is fast descending
And loud the winds do roar,
A poor little boy quite friendless
Came up to a lady's door.
The lady sat at her window,
He raised his eyes with joy,
Saying, " Lady gay, take pity I pray
On a poor little soldier's boy.

" My mother died when I was young
And my father he went to the wars,
But in battle brave he nobly fell
All covered with wounds and scars.
For many a mile on his knapsack
He has carried me with joy,
But now I am left, of pity bereft,
I'm a poor little soldier's boy.

" The snow is fast descending
And night is coming on.
Unless you are befriending
I shall perish before the morn.
Then how it will grieve your heart
And your peace of mind destroy
To find me dead at your door in the morn,
A poor little soldier's boy."

The lady rushed from her window
And she opened her mansion's doors.
" Come in," she cried, " misfortune's child,
You never shall want any more.
For my only son in battle fell,
He was my only joy.
And whilst I live shelter I'll give
To a poor little soldier's boy."