Now when soft airs of spring are blowing down
Into our happy vale from the south west,
Now when the green whin wears its golden crown,
And the lea fields with fairest flow’rs are drest.

Pleasant it is to walk our fields among,
And note the progress of the growing crops;
While birds are singing, and the sun is strong,
And smoke is curling from the chimney tops.

While harping winds make a sad soothing sound,
And child-like rills are laughing at our feet,
While sun and shadow race along the ground,
Like joy pursuing sorrow – O! ‘tis sweet,

Pleasant it is to us who till these fields
To feel we are in partnership with God,
Who now gives early promise of fair yields
To compensate for industry bestowed.

MICHAEL MULLIN ‘The Bard of Foremass’
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.