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 leaped, or jumped, or ran,
O I was proud of him!
He leaped 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 pleased—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 learned to walk alone;
Careful you used to be of me,
My little brother John.
’How often, when my young feet tired,
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.'
