An' roun' the woak, the wind a-blowèn weak,
Softly whiver'd by.
Though drown'd wer still the deaïsy bed
Below the flood, its feäce instead
O' flow'ry grown', below our shoes
Show'd feäirest views o' skies o'er head.
An' zoo to try if all our faïth is true
Jaÿ mid end in tears,
An' hope, woonce feäir, mid saddèn into fear,
Here in e'thly years.