This page has been validated.
3
A faded beech its shadow brown,
Threw o’er a grave where sorrow slept,
On which, tho’ scarce with grass o’ergrown.
Two ragged children sat and wept.
A piece of bread between them lay.
Which neither seem’d inclin’d to take,
And yet they look’d so much a prey
To want, it made my heart to ache.
My little children, let me know,
Why you in such distress appear,
And why you wasteful from you throw.
That bread which many a heart would cheer
The little boy, with accents sweet.
Replied, whilst tears each other chac’d;
“Lady, we’ve not enough to eat.
And if we had we would not waste.
“But sister Mary’s naughty grown,
And will not eat whate’er I say,
Tho’ sure I am the bread’s her own,
|And she has tasted none to day”
