Suffer the Little Children

An appeal is being launched for St. Joseph's Foundling Home at Broadmeadows, where many "unwanted babies" are being cared for.

He hasn't got a surname.
If he has, it is not his own.
He's thrown into this world of ours
To face the thing alone.
He's thrown into this world of ours
A nameless child of shame.
But you, who lead the blameless life,
Think you he bears the blame?

Maybe you have a little kid —
Who's nursed with tender care —
Who, petted, spoiled with too much love,
Who has warm clothes to wear,
You go planning a career for him,
You picture him a man —
Successful, happy, prosperous,
And as you scheme and plan,

You scheme and plan, and scrimp and save.
To give that kid a chance.
He never knows the brutal sneer,
The scoff, the sideways glance.
He's petted and protected
As all human kids should be;
But what about that nameless one
Who craves your charity?

And think you, is it charity?
Or duty, after all,
To lend a sympathetic ear
What time the foundling calls?
They never asked to be thrown here,
They never had the choice.
But, brothers! Listen! can you hear
The plaintive, pleading voice?

He hasn't got a surname.
But he has a claim on YOU.
And, in a good Australian man,
What do you mean to do.
He hasn't got a surname.
If he has, it is not his own.
But just suppose that kid of yours
Should face the world - alone.