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George MacDonald - A Song of Hope
Work rating: Low

I dinna ken what`s come ower me!
There`s a how whaur ance was a hert!
I never luik oot afore me,
An` a cry winna gar me stert;
There`s naething nae mair to come ower me,
Blaw the win` frae ony airt!

For i` yon kirkyard there`s a hillock,
A hert whaur ance was a how;
An` o` joy there`s no left a mealock—
Deid aiss whaur ance was a low!
For i` yon kirkyard, i` the hillock,
Lies a seed `at winna grow.

It`s my hert `at hauds up the wee hillie—
That`s hoo there`s a how i` my breist;
It`s awa doon there wi` my Willie—
Gaed wi` him whan he was releast;
It`s doon i` the green-grown hillie,
But I s` be efter it neist!

Come awa, nicht an` mornin,
Come ooks, years, a` Time`s clan:
Ye`re welcome: I`m no a bit scornin!
Tak me til him as fest as ye can.
Come awa, nicht an` mornin,
Ye are wings o` a michty span!

For I ken he`s luikin an` waitin,
Luikin aye doon as I clim;
An` I`ll no hae him see me sit greitin
I`stead o` gaein to him!
I`ll step oot like ane sure o` a meetin,
I`ll travel an` rin to him.
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