I'm a helpless cripple child, br Gentle Christians, pity me; br Once, in rosy health I smiled, br Blithe and gay as you can be, br And upon the village green br First in every sport was seen. br br Now, alas! I'm weak and low, br Cannot either work or play; br Tottering on my crutches, slow, br Thus I drag my weary way: br Now no longer dance and sing, br Gaily, in the merry ring. br br Many sleepless nights I live, br Turning on my weary bed; br Softest pillows cannot give br Slumber to my aching head; br Constant anguish makes it fly br From my heavy, wakeful eye. br br And, when morning beams return, br Still no comfort beams for me: br Still my limbs with fever burn, br Painful still my crippled knee. br And another tedious day br Passes slow and sad away. br br From my chamber-window high, br Lifted to my easy-chair, br I the village-green can spy, br Once I used to frolic there, br March, or beat my new-bought drum; br Happy times! no more to come. br br There I see my fellows gay, br Sporting on the daisied turf, br And, amidst their cheerful play, br Stopp'd by many a merry laugh; br But the sight I scarce can bear, br Leaning in my easy-chair. br br Let not then the scoffing eye br Laugh, my twisted leg to see: br Gentle Christians, passing by, br Stop awhile, and pity me, br And for you I'll breathe a prayer, br Leaning in my easy-chair.