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e went gipsying;

A long time ago。”

I had often heard the song before; and always with lively delight; for Bessie had a sweet voice;—at least; I thought so。 But now; though her voice was still sweet; I found in its melody an indescribable sadness。 Sometimes; preoccupied with her work; she sang the refrain very low; very lingeringly; “A long time ago” came out like the saddest cadence of a funeral hymn。 She passed into another ballad; this time a really doleful one。

“My feet they are sore; and my limbs they are weary;

Long is the way; and the mountains are wild;

Soon will the twilight close moonless and dreary

Over the path of the poor orphan child。

Why did they send me so far and so lonely;

Up where the moors spread and grey rocks are piled?

Men are hard…hearted; and kind angels only

Watch o’er the steps of a poor orphan child。

Yet distant and soft the night breeze is blowing;

Clouds there are none; and clear stars beam mild;

God; in His mercy; protection is showing;

fort and hope to the poor orphan child。

Ev’n should I fall o’er the broken bridge passing;

Or stray in the marshes; by false lights beguiled;

Still will my Father; with promise and blessing;

Take to His bosom the poor orphan child。

There is a thought that for strength should avail me;

Though both of shelter and kindred despoiled;

Heaven is a home; and a rest will not fa

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