The sounding bell reminds me of The youn priest, straight and tall, Who helpe to guide our outhful steps From every pit all.

Good Father Dougald still looks young, His age sits lightly, though,

His steps is not so lively as ’twas, Fifty years ago.

Of Francis Hughes now I must speak,

His amily, beside Than whom no better people lived In all the worldwide. I can see from where I sit, their cows, As to the spring they go

To drink, and memory brings me back

To fifty years ago.

He passed the span of eighty Now his spirit is with God, With his good wife laid beside him,

They slee beneath the sod.

Cod pros er t ose that are left behind In t eir journey here below,

And Heaven’s rest to those that’s gone,

Since fifty years ago.

I wondered on still farther, Along the river’s bank, And I knelt me down at Hughes’ spring For to get a drink.

The barrel looked the same to me, And the moss waved to and fro, And the water tasted just as sweet As fifty years ago.

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