A Song Of Hope

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.