At the closing o’ my song.
Aye, and wearied, aye and wearied, I’d sing.
I’d sing for them, the loved o’ Him,
And brothers o’ thee and me. Amen.
This is the prelude and now comes the song:
I choose o’ the spill
O’ love and word and work,
The waste o’ earth, to build.
Ye hark unto the sages,
And oft a way-singer’s song