O jaÿs a-lost, an' jaÿs a-vound,
How Providence do bring things round!
Where woonce along the sky o' blue
The zun went roun' his longsome bow,
An' brighten'd, to my soul, the view
About our little farm below.
There I did plaÿ the merry geäme,
Wi' childern ev'ry holitide,
But coulden tell the vaïce or neäme
That time would vind to be my bride.