Found Dead

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, — Oh, 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 every human door Is closed to his children, scorned and poor, Who opens the heavenly portal wide; Ah, God was near when the Outcast died.