Thomas Aird

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Far through the snows of winter come
To share his widowed Grannie's home,
The Orphan Boy lays down his head
Weary on his little bed.
Oft looking out, with modest fear,
He sees her anxious face severe,
Late at her work, as if 'twere due
To such a heavy burden new.
Her lamp put out, the clothes are prest,
How kindly, round his back and breast
Her face to his, so loving meek,
He feels a tear drop on his cheek.
Sobbing, sobbing, all for joy,
Sobbing lies the Orphan Boy:
No more sorrow, no more fear,
Such power is in that simple tear!


Her cottage drowned in roses, sitting
Before it Grannam plies her knitting;
And, prosperous from their city life,
Her Grandson near sits with his wife.

Before them play their boy and girl,
So fair with many a tangled curl,
Tumbling about, with laughing shout,
As aye they find some floweret out.
A race! they come; with Grannie lies
To say who holds the richer prize.
Her glasses wiped, with solemn air
She ponders well, she judges fair.
Judgment pronounced, the little chap,
Back she lays him on her lap,
And measures nice if still her knitting
That stumpy leg be duly fitting.
With family love, and family cheer,
The Orphan pays his Grannie's tear.

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