We watched you prostrate in the stall,
Your head upon the old man’s knee,
And your dim eye turned to me;
Anxiously your state he scanned;
You, untameable with all,
Faintly licked his iron hand;
Now sorrow o’er and sickness cured,
Prized for every pang endured,
Your playful toil what sweetens rest,
Your task to bear me forth at morn,