That word went up through the mirk mid sky,
⁠And even to God's own ear:
And the Lord was ware of the keen twin cry,
⁠And wroth was he to hear.

He's tane the soul of the unsained child
⁠That fled to death from birth;
He's tane the light of the wan sea wild,
⁠And bid it burn on earth.

He's given the ghaist of the babe new-born
⁠The gift of the water-sprite,
To ride on revel from morn to morn
⁠And roll from night to night.

He's given the sprite of the wild wan sea
⁠The gift of the new-born man,
A soul for ever to bide and be
⁠When the years have filled their span.