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No
home,
no
home, said a little girl
At the door of a rich man's home.
She trembling stood on the marble steps,
And leaned on the polished wall.
Her clothes were thin and her feet were bare,
And the snowflakes covered her head.
Let
me
come
in, she feebly said,
Please
give
me
a
little
bread.
As the little girl still trembling stood
Before that rich man's door,
With a frowning face he scornfully said,
No
room,
no
bread
for
the
poor.
Then the rich man went to his table so fine
Where he and his family were fed.
And the orphan stood in the snow so deep,
As she cried for a piece of bread.
The rich man slept on his velvet couch,
And he dreamed of his silver and gold,
While the orphan lay in a bed of snow,
And murmured, So
cold,
so
cold.
The hours rolled on through the midnight storm,
Rolled on like a funeral bell,
The sleet came down in a blinding sheet,
And the drifting snow still fell.
When morning came the little girl
Still lay at the rich man's door.
But her soul had fled away to its home
Where there's room and there's bread for the poor.
- Album:
- Docs Prescription
- The Definitive Doc Watson
- Americana Master Series: Best Of Doc Watson
- Miscellaneous
- Memories
- Doc Watson Live In San Francisco 1964
- The Bottom Line Archive Series: (2002)
- Old Timey Concert
- Celtic Drinking Songs
- Third Generation Blues
- The Vanguard Years
- Live From San Francisco (S.F. State College, 1965)
- Celebrate Blues & Bluegrass - Memphis Slim & Doc Watson...
- Corn Likker Blues
- The Rambling Hobo & Other Favorites
- Doc Watson At Gerdes Folk City
- Doc Watson on Stage
- Celebrate Blues & Bluegrass: Memphis Slim & Doc Watson
- Blues Unplugged
- Men of Classic Country, Vol. 1