Widow's Lament

Sad, sad is my heart noo that five months are gane
Since that awesome day when our dear ones were taen,
Here frae our doorsteps I can see their live tomb,
As the engine keeps turning with a dull heavy boom.

I oft flee the door when I hear the least din,
An' gaze in the distance till the tears my e'en blin',
An' the weanes gather roon' wi' their wee hearts a' fou,
A' speirin' at ance "Is my father hame noo?"

I aft sit fu' dowie an' greet tae mysel,
When the weanes are sleepin' then nought breaks the spell;
The house seems sae dreary, the hearth looks sae bare,
For there in the corner stands the empty armchair.

I whiles think there's a slackness ower by at the pit,
When there's men in it working an' oor deid in it yet.
Will the day never come when oor deid they will raise
To the surface again and lay them in their graves?

We will then be content though their face we ne'er see
Till the last trumpet calls a signal frae Thee -
Or blessed Redeemer - the lone widow's friend,
The orphan's dear Father Thou'lt be tae the end.

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Copyright © 2001, Jack Campin