Whose life seemed to hang by a thread;
His ailings and wants both his sisters employ,
Whose love even health seemed to shed.
For as his weak limbs were unable to walk,
They'd carry him up to the top of the hill;
And so would amuse with their innocent talk,
That he'd almost forget what it was to be ill.
And when the sun rose with his hot scorching rays,
They'd seek a cool spot in the forest shade, where
They would sing him to sleep with their sweet native lays,