I used to hear my mother sing this as far back as I can remember hearing anybody sing anything.
One of the first ballads I can ever remember hearing.
Some call it the Little Orphan Girl, some call it the Frozen Girl, I don't know.
I think it must be one of the old English ballads.
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.
A 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.
The rich man went to his table so fine where he and his family were fed.
But the orphan stood in the snow outside and cried for a piece of bread.
That night he slept on his velvet couch and he dreamed of his silver and gold.
But the orphan lay in a veil of snow as she murmured so cold, so cold.
The hours rolled on through the midnight storm, rolled on like a funeral bell.
The sleet still fell in a blinding sheet and the drifting snow still fell.
When morning dawned the little girl still lay near the rich man's door.
But her soul had fled away to his home where there's room and there's bread for the poor.
Thank you.