O'er hill and vale below.
Morn rose—the faithful dog appears,
He whines for food so mild,
The father hied him through his tears,
And said, "Tray, where's my child?"
Thrice rose the morn—the father's heart
With grief was almost dead;
But every morn the dog appeared,
And whined and begged for bread.
Yet through the night and through the day,