A little black thing among the snow,
Crying ‘weep! ‘weep! ‘ in notes of woe!
‘Where are thy father and mother? say? ‘
‘They are both gone up to the church to pray.
Because I was happy upon the heath,
And smil’d among the winter’s snow,
They clothed me in the clothes of death,
And taught me to sing the notes of woe.
And because I am happy and dance and sing,
They think they have done me no injury,
And are gone to praise God and his Priest and King,
Who make up a heaven of our misery.’
