It lets me in my rest,
But wrap me in another shroud
And warm me in thy breast."
The sister peep'd from out her bed,
Her face was pale with fear,—
"O mother, give him nought of mine
Or I shall die this year."
It lets me in my rest,
But wrap me in another shroud
And warm me in thy breast."
The sister peep'd from out her bed,
Her face was pale with fear,—
"O mother, give him nought of mine
Or I shall die this year."