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Ann Taylor - The Little Cripple`s Complaint
Work rating: Low

I`m a helpless cripple child, 
  Gentle Christians, pity me; 
Once, in rosy health I smiled, 
  Blithe and gay as you can be, 
And upon the village green
First in every sport was seen. 

Now, alas! I`m weak and low,
  Cannot either work or play; 
Tottering on my crutches, slow, 
  Thus I drag my weary way: 
Now no longer dance and sing, 
Gaily, in the merry ring. 

Many sleepless nights I live, 
  Turning on my weary bed; 
Softest pillows cannot give
  Slumber to my aching head; 
Constant anguish makes it fly
From my heavy, wakeful eye. 

And, when morning beams return, 
  Still no comfort beams for me: 
Still my limbs with fever burn,
  Painful still my crippled knee. 
And another tedious day
Passes slow and sad away. 

From my chamber-window high, 
  Lifted to my easy-chair,
I the village-green can spy, 
  Once I used to frolic there, 
March, or beat my new-bought drum; 
Happy times! no more to come. 

There I see my fellows gay,
  Sporting on the daisied turf,
And, amidst their cheerful play, 
  Stopp`d by many a merry laugh; 
But the sight I scarce can bear,
Leaning in my easy-chair. 

Let not then the scoffing eye
  Laugh, my twisted leg to see: 
Gentle Christians, passing by, 
  Stop awhile, and pity me, 
And for you I`ll breathe a prayer, 
Leaning in my easy-chair.
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