Mary and Manis are working the turf together Old they are, the two of them, old and gray
Over the bog the sea wind sings in the heather Dark clouds gather the hilltops far away
They will have comfort now when the nights are colder They will have turf, aye, plenty of turf to spare
Light she steps with a heavy creel on her shoulder Load on load for the staff that is building there
There is a deeper note than the sea wind singing Soft it comes on the breath of a dying day
Down in the hollow the bell from the chapel is ringing Mary and Manis stand for a minute of pray
Soft and low on the air each long note lingers Quietly bend in their old gray heads they stand
Making the holy sign with work-worn fingers Wrapped in the sudden peace that has blessed the land
Is it the light of heaven on the wide sea breaking Spreading its glory out like a golden rain
Aye, and with the light of the world in their eyes awaking Mary and Manis are working the turf again
Thank you.