Little girls running across the bank.
'Behold the man, the rover' they sang.
With the first blooms of spring humming.
Little girs hopping and dancing.

Children of the green hills.
Before the mountains that stand still.
Along the rivers under the sycamores they pad.
Standing against the storm that is mad.

Little girls come heal my soul...
Lay me down my wounds are foul...
Sing me a song to my sleep...
Into a kind slumber i shall fall deep...

Little girls, i want to dance with the wind that swirls through your hair.
My children, i want to run across my father's land for you are so fair.
I want to dance a fling in the silver light of the moon.
I want to dance and sing with you again very soon.

Little girls...come heal my soul...
My wounds are foul...