Ballad of the Poor Child

Now tell the troubles of the poor child
For it is time
To tell the struggles and the hard life
Of one without
Of one so young

Now tell the cold and hungry morning
In which to wait
A mother crying at the table
Empty and bare
And her heart breaks

Tell the troubles of the poor child
The joys of life are not to know
Saplings starved of sun and water
Cannot thrive
Cannot grow

Now tell these troubles from the mountains
To the sea
And let them ring in every kind soul
With еars to hear
And eyes to see

Tеll the troubles of the poor child
For their voices are too small
Let them drink a cup of comfort
And let them sing
Among us all