A song of an Orphan

The river flows from north to west,
I have come to take a rest.
Under trees, the grass like bed,
There I lay my weary head.

I sing a song that is of mine,
About a widow who was kind.
She gave an orphan a place to stay,
Who cared for him everynight and day.

One day came some wicked men,
Who claimed the boy belonged to them.
Poor old widow fought alone,
To tell the world that they were wrong.
In the end she won with pride,
Little boy sat down and cried.
"Fear no evil my little lady,
Dry your eyes that are now wet.
I will see you be a man, a wise man always in all lands."

Now that she is no longer here,
But her words to me are still clear.
Wise I have been because of her, like a mother she was, very dear.

Originally byThe White Pilgrim