The little childher in the street—
It's shipwrecked sure they are with cold,
There's some of them not eight years old,
And ne'er a boot upon their feet.
To beg a copper they go far
In rain and frost, in snow and sleet.
The little childher in the street,
You'd pity them the way they are.

There's other childher warmly clad,
That live in houses in the square,
They all have coppers and to spare,
The sight of them would make you glad;
A nurse, be sure, is never far
To shield them from the rain and cold.
They're guarded like a bag of gold—
You'd envy them the way they are.

Now them that look so rich and grand,
And them that shiver in the street,
I wonder will they ever meet
And walk together hand in hand.
I do be thinking when they're small
It's like they are as peas in pod;
Maybe they're like as that to God—
It's sure enough He made them all.

The little childher in the street—
It's shipwrecked sure they are with cold,
There's some of them not eight years old,
And ne'er a boot upon their feet.
To beg a copper they go far
In rain and frost, in snow and sleet,
The little childher in the street,
You'd pity them the way they are.

There's other childher warmly clad,
That live in houses in the square,
They all have coppers and to spare,
The sight of them would make you glad;
A nurse, be sure, is never far
To shield them from the rain or cold.
They're guarded like a bag of gold—
You'd envy them the way they are.

Now them that look so rich and grand,
And them that shiver in the street,
I wonder will they ever meet
And walk together hand in hand.
I do be thinking when they're small
It's like they are as peas in pod;
Maybe they're like as that to God—
It's sure enough He made them all.