The merry, merry lark

The merry, merry lark was up and singing,

The hare was out and feeding on the lea;

The merry, merry bells below were ringing,

As my child's laugh rang through me.

Now the hare is snared and dead beside the snowyard,

And the lark beside the dreary winter sea,

And my baby in his cradle in the churchyard,

Waiteth there until the bells bring me.