THE three Fates sat in a house of birth, br Ah, well a day; ah, well a day; br Their eyes were bright, but not with mirth— br They have no love for the sons of earth— br And their lips were parched and gray. br 5 br br Their gray locks hung from brow to chin, br Ah, well a day; ah, well a day; br One held the distaff, and one did spin, br And one held shears in her fingers thin; br Three silent hags were they. br 10 br br We saw not the thread which the sisters spun, br Ah, well a day; ah, well a day; br Nor whether in white or in black begun, br But on her with the shears, that elder one, br Our eyes were fixed alway. br 15 br br A thread, I ween, of tangled years, br Ah, well a day; ah, well a day; br God stay her hand that holds the shears; br Our hopes are stronger than our fears br For the bud upon life's spray.