O mother, open the window wide
              And let the daylight in;
          The hills grow darker to my sight
             And thoughts begin to swim.

         And mother dear, take my young son,
             (Since I was born of thee)
          And care for all his little ways
             And nurse him on thy knee.

         And mother, wash my pale pale hands
              And then bind up my feet;
            My body may no longer rest
              Out of its winding sheet.

        And mother dear, take a sapling twig
             And green grass newly mown,
            And lay them on my empty bed
            That my sorrow be not known.

         And mother, find three berries red
           And pluck them from the stalk,
         And burn them at the first [bad word] 
            That my spirit may not walk.

       And mother dear, break a willow wand, 
               And if the sap be even,
        Then save it for sweet Robert’s sake
         And he’ll know my soul’s in heaven.

        And mother, when the big tears fall,
           (And fall, God knows, they may)
          Tell him I died of my great love
             And my dying heart was [bad word] 

        And mother dear, when the sun has set
           And the pale kirk grass waves,
       Then carry me through the dim twilight
            And hide me among the graves.