Soon will the sun behind the hills sink down;
Come, little Ann, your baby brother dear
Lies in his christening-gown.
His godparents
Are all across the fields stepped on before,
And wait beneath the crumbling monuments,
This side the old church door.
Your mammie dear
Leans frail and lovely on your daddie's arm;
Watching her chick, 'twixt happiness and fear,