My native stream careers along
By holms of grass and fields of tillage,
It sings for me a rustic song
That ne’er was heard in town or village.
‘Tis very old in years, and yet
‘Tis very fresh and young and cheery;
It talks to me till I forget
The cares and work that made me weary.
I listen to the lowing herds,
The humming bees, the rippling river,
The sighing winds and singing birds –
O! I could listen on for ever.
The memory of a barefoot lad
Learning his lessons here I treasure.
I oft’ come here when I am sad.
I always come when I have leisure.
And Oh! ‘twere sweet, life‘s labour done,
Retiring here, to end life’s even’ –
Fixing my faith in God alone
And centering all my hopes in Heaven.
‘The Bard of Foremass’
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.