Found dead! Dead and alone!
There was nobody near, nobody near
When the Outcast died on his pillow of stone--
No mother, no brother, no sister dear,
Not a friendly voice to soothe or cheer,
Not a watching eye or a pitying tear--
O, the city slept when he died alone
In the roofless street, on a pillow of stone. Many a weary day went by,
While wretched and worn he begged for bread,
Tired of life, and longing to lie
Peacefully down with the silent dead;
Hunger and cold, and scorn and pain,
Had wasted his form and seared his brain,
Till at last on a bed of frozen ground,
With a pillow of stone, was the Outcast found. Found dead! Dead and alone,
On a pillow of stone in the roofless street;
Nobody heard his last faint moan,
Or knew when his sad heart ceased to beat;
No mourner lingered with tears or sighs,
But the stars looked down with pitying eyes,
And the chill winds passed with a wailing sound
O'er the lonely spot where his form was found. Found dead! Yet not alone;
There was somebody near--somebody near
To claim the wanderer as his own,
And find a home for the homeless here;
One, when ever human door
Is closed to his children, scorned and poor,
Who opens the heavenly portal wide;
Ah, God was near when the Outcast died.