ORPHAN GIRL (Traditional American)

C F C G7 C

“No home, no home,” cried a little girl

G7 F C

At the door of a rich man’s hall,

F C

As she trembling stood on the polished step

G7 C

And leaned on the marble wall.

Her clothes were thin and her feet were bare

And the snow flakes covered her head.

“Let me come in,” she feebly said.

“Please give me a little bread.”

The night was dark and the snow fell fast

But the rich man closed his door

With a frowning face he scornfully said,

“No room, no bread for the poor.”

Then the rich man went to his table so fine

Where he and his family were fed.

And the orphan stood in the snow so deep

As she cried for a piece of bread.

The hours rolled on through the midnight storm,

Rolled on like a funeral bell.

The sleet came down in a blinding sheet

And the drifting snow still fell.

The morning dawned, and the orphan girl

Still lay at the rich man’s door.

But her soul had fled to a home above

Where there’s room and bread for the poor.