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It was christmas eve at the poorhouse, and over a grudging blaze,
The wretched inmates shivered, thinking of other days.
Outside the snow beat madly against the window pane,
But within it was mockery homely, for Christmas had come again.
Seated apart from the others, watching the whirling snow
With blue eyes wide and haunting sat little orphan Joe.
He was only a tiny fellow not more than six years old,
Yet his childish lips were trembling with sorrows all untold.
It was the little boys first Christmas without a mothers love,
There was no one to tell him stories of angels who dwelt above
. There was no one to caress his pillow, or tuck him in warm and tight,
There was no one to sit beside him or kiss him a fond good night.
For love was unknown at the poorhouse of sorrow each had his share,
Each had his own afflictions, his griefs and heartaches to bear.
And each drank a bitter measure from the brimming cup of woe,
And there was no time to pity the sadness of poor little homeless Joe.
But Santa Claus would be coming , for tomorrow was Christmas Day,
He’d pity the poor little fella whose mother had gone away.
He’d bring him some beautiful playthings , like those of the year before,
And after long long heartache little Joe would be glad once more.
But would he come to the poorhouse ? The little ones heart stood still
Then he thought of the poorkeeper’s children their stockings would be filled.
Their fire always sparkled brightly, snd the room was so nice and warm.
His stocking coild hang with the others it would surely do no harm.
So he took off his ragged stocking it was faded, worn and old,
And he crept out through the passageway his bare toes numb with cold.
He paused at the open doorway from which came a welcome glow,
That looked like a glimpse of heaven to poor little homeless Joe.
All within was ready for Christmas expectancy filled the air,
The children were tucked in snugly their stockings were hung with care.
Their mother hovered about them and she turned with an angry frown,
As little orphan Joe paused on the threshold his timid cast down.
“Well, what do you want ?” she asked him, and as he made his request,
She hoarsley laughed and answered, “Well, whoever would have guessed !!
You,ll have to go back where you came from , where your stocking hung last year.
Santa Clause will go there , I recon ; he,d never look for you here,
So closing the door so roughly , she told him to just go away.
“There’s bother enough without you “ — thats what she,d always say,
He turned and walked slowly and sadly , until he came to the entrance door.
Where the snow lay heaped on the doorstep , and the wind swept by with a roar,
Then he thought of the words she had spoken, and whispered that he must go.
Back to where Santa Claus waited for the coming of little Joe,
Out into the night he stepped bravely , and struggled on and on.
With courage that never wavered though his strength was almost gone,
Strange but some instinct wakened seemed his faltering steps to guide.
And there next morning they found him in the house where his mother had died,
He had hung his pitiful stocking above the cold hearth stone.
And had sat there watching and waiting in that desolate room alone,
An eager hopeful expression his wee face plainly bore.
His blue eyes wide and haunting searched that bare room over and over,
At length he kindled with pleasure and cried “ I’ve missed you so !”.
“Oh , Mother , I knew that someday you’d come for your little Joe !”,
Kind hands raised him gently , though the end was drawing near.
Words for which he had hungered fell on a heedless ear.
That room was filled with glory that no human eye could see,
Unheard by the ear of mortals rang that wondrous melody.
As safe from this world of sorrow, too bitter for him to know,
The Angels tenderly lifted the spirit of little Joe.
Source of the above poem
One answer said to be the best Answer – was: “Orphan Joe. Not sure if he wrote it but the Bluegrass DJ Ray Davis recorded himself reading it – one of those things he called “plum pitiful” The source on “Yahoo Answers” .tell us to look on Amazon to see it it is available on CD. It is on Plum Pitiful: 20 sad and tragic bluegrass songs. I’d drown in my own tears! Source(s): http://www.amazon.com/
Or even better you can hear it on YouTube by Stella Young Stella May (Porter) Young learned this story as a young girl and told it to her children every Christmas season. One of her children, the Rev. Norman Colby Young, requested the story told to him so many times that his father. George Colby Young, had his wife, Stella, make a recording. Please see the posting on YouTube. This is a copy of the recording produced form the record courtesy of Stella Young’s grandson, David Colby Young. We believe that Stella May (Porter) Young was one of the first to perform this talk and may have been the first to record Little Orphan Joe as well as one other story Santa on the Train on a 78 record.

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