O’er the purple moor we went
In the summer weather,

O’er the purple moor we went
Through the honied heather,

Through the bracken, shoulder high,
Where the brook goes singing,

Paused where blue the harebells grow
Just to hear them ringing.

O what joy, our hears at ease,
Nothing to perplex us;

God seem’d smiling on the earth,
Not a care could vex us.