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.