I think I'll do a fearful deed
Of wickedness and cruelty,
And then, if Father Walsh speaks truth,
Jesus will weep a tear for me,
And I will catch it in my hat
Just here outside my cabin door:
And put it on my little field
Where nothing ever grew before.
And it will sprout so fine and brave,
That lovely birds with yellow bills
Will come to peck my crowded corn
From all the Seven Holy Hills.