| Sang old Tom the lunatic |
| That sleeps under the canopy; |
| ‘What change has put my thoughts astray |
| And
eyes that had so keen a sight? |
| What has turned to smoking wick |
| Nature’s pure unchanging light? |
|
|
|
|
| ‘Huddon
and Duddon and Daniel O’Leary, |
| Holy Joe, the beggar-man, |
| Wenching, drinking, still remain |
| Or sing
a penance on the road; |
| Something made these eyeballs weary |
| That blinked and saw them in a shroud. |
|
|
|
|
| ‘Whatever stands in field or flood |
| Bird, beast, fish or man, |
| Mare or stallion, cock or hen, |
| Stands in God’s
unchanging eye |
| In all the vigour of its blood; |
| In that faith I live or die.’ |