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.