The mother wept for her little Willie,

Who lay within the mould.

O cold, cold is a winter grave,

O but a shroud is thin—

A wee hand tapp'd upon the door,

"O mother, let me in."

"I dare not let thee in, Willie,"

The sister up and said,

"For mother's away at Jane's lykewake,—

Go to thy graveyard bed."