And one is for the true love—the heaviest of all—
That holds the pieces of a faith a careless hand let fall.
Black Sheep, Black Sheep,
Have you ought to say?
A word to each, my Master,
Ere I go my way.
A word unto my mother to bid her think o' me
Only as a little lad playing at her knee.
A word unto my tried friend to bid him see again
Two laughing lads in Springtime a-racing down the glen.