O Thou, the helpless orphan’s hope
To whom alone my eyes look up
In each distressing day!
Father (for that’s the sweetest name
That e’er these lips were taught to frame),
Instruct this heart to pray.
Low in the dust my parents lie,
And no attentive ear is nigh
But Thine, to mark my woe;
No hand to wipe away my tears,
No gentle voice to hush my fears,
Remains to me below.
To Heav’n my earthly friends are gone,
And thither are my comforts flown,
But I continue here;
Be Thou my pattern, Thou my guide;
This friendless heart from sorrow hide,
Reposing on Thy care.