And where is the white Christ faring?
They’ve travelled the four grey sounds of Orc,
And the four grey seas of Eirinn.
The moon it set and the wind’s away,
And the song in the grass is dying,
And a silver cloud on the silent sea
Like a shrouding sheet is lying.
But Christ and the gilly will follow on
Till the ring in the east is showing,
And the awny corn is red on the hills,