244 
It is thy autumn comrade 
Who makes appeal to thee; 
By heaven, by all forsaken, 
Woodmen, oh, pity me! 
Yes, in these days of famine 
The little pilgrim keep; 
On dainty crumbs regale him, 
By the firaside let him sleep ! 
For Iam the companion 
Of the poor woodcutter ! 
