The Angels Ballad for Fantine

Alas! Young angel,

hath thou broken thy wings?

Thy art the welting flower so young and pretty.

Lay thou haplessly?

Upon the harden, barren soil.

Despaired,

tender soul forsaken,

raise arm for the Lord’s praise,

for man’s crudeness,

abusive, passiveness,

has left thou to wilt, and cold.

Feel the warmth of God’s love,

reach toward the heavens.

Grow thy flower there.

And although grey may have touched thee.

From shinning heavens thou hast borne an angel.

And God showers you with caress, and kiss.

The Lord hast sent thou a liberator,

and thy shall rest in his care,

and then he shall see,

that small angel,

but not give up, in trust of man;

for the good Curé,

shall see you toward the pass,

so worry nevermore.

The tiny child is held by the angels,

they shall pass her to the savior,

and he will bring all well.

The destiny of love,

shall not be deserted,

though the path seem distorted.

The light of heaven sees all souls good, and gracious ,

and shall lead them, with hand held,

down the path.