The church bells toll once, twice,
Then Ten for Twelve strikes,
And the hill piper pipes
Out a tune that she likes

Of oceans and meadows
That sing to the trees
A soft little whisper that's
Turned by the Breeze.

She sits and she pipes
As the church bells go still
So naught but her tunings
Are heard on the hill.

And as the night dawns,
The stars blink and shine
Yey still on she plays
A sound soft and fine.

A cloak of warm comfort
As list'ners breeze by
They stop, and they listen,
In silent reply.

When bells sing of dawn
And the last stars' away,
The piper stops piping
Alas, for the day.