Blest vision of departed worth,
I see thee still, I see thee still;
Thou art the shade of her that’s goan,
My Mary Hill, my Mary Hill.

My chaamer in this silent hour,
Were dark an’ drear, were dark an’ drear;
But brighter far than Cynthia’s beam,
Now thou art here, now thou art here.

Wild nature in her grandeur had
No charm for me, no charm for me;
Did not the songsters chant thy name
Fra ivvery tree, fra ivvery tree.

Chaos wod hev com agean,
E worlds afar, e worlds afar;
Could aw not see my Mary’s face,
In ivvery star, in ivvery star;

Say when the messenger o’ death,
Sal bid ma come, sal bid ma come;
Wilt thou be foremost in the van,
To tack ma hoam, to tack ma hoam.