Come rain, come storm upon the morrow be thee born.
Rise thee now from dusty earth
Fill our hearts with hope and mirth.
The parched land lies cracked and dry
Come oh come i pray now as i lie
Looking on from from hill to the great vaulted sky
Roar now and let thunder cry
Lightning ride and split the the sky.
No nectar be as sweet nor ale so fine
As this lovely wildling storm of mine.