The chapel on the hill

The chapel of my childhood

Is on the green hill-side,

And in the long grass up the hill

The graves of them that's died.

My mother often took me

When I was young and small;

I'd kneel upon her skirts and count

The Stations on the wall.

Each evening in the Maytime

The rosary we'd say:

You'd hear beyant the chapel wall

The corncrakes in the hay.

The flowers round the altar,

They made the air smell sweet,

And cool the chapel floor would be

To little childher's feet.

It's scarce a day was passing

But there I'd be a while:

I mind the way the boys' bare feet

Went patting up the aisle.

The girls would come from lessons

And kneel to say a prayer.

You'd see the noonday sunshine caught

In Mary Connor's hair.