The Lame Brother

My parents sleep both in one grave; My only friend's a brother. The dearest things upon the earth We are to one another.

A fine stout boy I knew him once, With active form and limb; Whene'er he leap'd, or jump'd, or ran, O I was proud of him!

He leap'd too far, he got a hurt, He now does limping go.-- When I think on his active days, My heart is full of woe.

He leans on me, when we to school Do every morning walk; I cheer him on his weary way, He loves to hear my talk:

The theme of which is mostly this, What things he once could do. He listens pleas'd--then sadly says, "Sister, I lean on you."

Then I reply, "Indeed you're not Scarce any weight at all.-- And let us now still younger years To memory recall.

"Led by your little elder hand, I learn'd to walk alone; Careful you us'd to be of me, My little brother John.

"How often, when my young feet tir'd, You've carried me a mile!-- And still together we can sit, And rest a little while.

"For our kind master never minds, If we're the very last; He bids us never tire ourselves With walking on too fast."