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