But care had thorns upon his pillow spread,
And scattered sand and nettles in his bed:
Nervous he grew—would often sigh and groan,—
He talked but little, and he walked alone;
Till by his priest convinced, that from one deed
Of genuine love would joy and health proceed,
He from that time with care and zeal began
To seek and soothe the grievous ills of man;
And as his hands their aid to grief apply,
He learns to smile and he forgets to sigh.