Spun-yarn and Spindrift

High up in the courts of Heaven to-day A little dog-angel waits, With the other angels he will not play, But he sits alone at the gates; For I know that my master will come, says he: And when he comes, he will call for me.
He sees the spirits that pass him by As they hasten towards the throne, And he watches them with a wistful eye As he sits at the gates alone; But I know if I just wait patiently That some day my master will come, says he.
And his master, far on the earth below, As he sits in his easy chair, Forgets sometimes, and he whistles low For the dog that is not there; And the little dog-angel cocks his ears, And dreams that his master's call he hears.
And I know, when at length his master waits Outside in the dark and cold For the hand of Death to ope the gates That lead to those courts of gold, The little dog-angel's eager bark Will comfort his soul in the shivering dark.

Fair are the fields of Canada, and broad her rivers flow, But my heart's away from Canada to seek the hills I know, Far, far away o'er billows grey, where western breezes sweep, And—it's not the songs of Canada go sounding through my sleep.
Shule, shule, shule, aroon, Shule go soccair, agus shule go cuain, Shule, shule, shule, aroon, Sgo Dhae tu, mavourneen, slan.
Along the sides of old Slieve Dhu again my footstep falls, Again the turf smoke rises blue, again the cuckoo calls, Once more adown the mountain brown the brown bog-waters leap— Oh how the croon of Shule aroon goes sounding through my sleep!
Shule, shule, shule, aroon, Shule go soccair, agus shule go cuain, Shule, shule, shule, aroon, Sgo Dhae tu, mavourneen, slan.
Oh 'tis I am here in Canada, far, far across the foam, And many years and many tears divide me from my home; But still above the Irish hills the stars their watches keep, And—it's not the songs of Canada go sounding through my sleep.
Shule, shule, shule, aroon, Shule go soccair, agus shule go cuain, Shule, shule, shule, aroon, Sgo Dhae tu, mavourneen, slan.