Amidst the rage of civil strife,The orphan's cries, the widow's tears,This day my rising dawn of lifeHas measured five revolving years.
Unconscious of the howling storm,No signs of shipwreck'd peace I see;For what, with all its bustling swarm,What is the noisy world to me?
My needle and my book employThe busy moments of my day;And, for the rest, with harmless joy,I pass them in a round of play!
And if, ere long, my vacant heartIs to be fill'd with Care and Pain,Still I shall bravely bear my partWhile Truth and Innocence remain.
