'Ithin his hands in deepest woe.
An' she, an angel ov his God,
Do cheer his soul below the rod,
A-liftèn up her han' to call
His eyes to writèn on the wall,
As white as is her spotless robe,
'Hast thou rememberèd my servant Job?'
"An' zoo the squier, in grief o' soul,
Built up the Tower upon the knowl."