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And pitying children often brought
Their offerings of meat and bread,
And to coax him away to their homes they sought,
But his buried friend he ne'er forgot,
Nor stray'd from his lonely bed.
Cold winter came with an angry sway,
And the snow lay deep and sore;
And his moaning grew fainter day by day,
Till there on the spot where his master lay,
He fell, to rise no more.
And when he struggled with mortal pain,
And death was by his side,
With one loud cry that shook the plain,
He call'd for his master, but all in vain,
Then stretch'd himself and died.
War.
War is a wicked thing,
It strikes the strong man dead,
