The weaver sits and spoils his wand
man with the devil spoils his fellow-man
and woman weaves on at her gown
to keep her family from spoiling if she can

The sun of every day goes up and down
and sees what in her world is shown
and sometimes shyly hides her laugh
but steady throws her rays around

And moon rests on the chimney-top
as if something she’s weary of
maketh her turn her face of pox

And man and woman, sun and moon and soil
never become tired of their toil
but turn and weave and go and hide until
the Youngest Day

Nature will always go her way
Hear the cock the new day crow’n’