He passes mansions grand and tall, Poor, homesick, little Joe, And hopes that men within the hall Will gifts of love bestow. Sometimes he stops to watch the lights, Poor, lonely, little Joe, And sees some whirling, dazzling sights While dancers come and go. In homes he hears the child-like noise, Poor, orphaned, little Joe, And wonders if their little boys To great, good men will grow. He seeks, at last, a sheltering shed, Poor, hungry, little Joe, And makes, of tattered coat, a bed, While tear-drops freely flow. And: “Now I lay me down to sleep,” Says drowsy, little Joe, “And pray the Lord my soul to keep,” He whispers, soft and low. “If I should die before I wake,” Breathes tired, little Joe, “I pray the Lord my soul to take,” And it was even so. Transcriber's Notes: Small capitals have been converted to SOLID capitals. Old or antiquated spellings have been preserved. Typographical errors have been silently corrected but other variations in spelling and punctuation remain unaltered. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Home Poems, by Kate Louise Wheeler