Oh, cold March winds, your cruel laments,
Are hard on prisoners hearts,
For you bring my mother's pleading cry,
From whom I've had to part,
I hear her weeping lonely sobs,
Her sorrow sweep me by,
And in the dark prison cell,
A tear has warmed my eye.

Oh, whistling winds, oh, why do you weep,
When roaming free you are?

Oh, lonely winds that walk the night,
To haunt the sinner's soul,
Pray pity me a wretched lad,
Who never will grow old,
Pray pity those who lie in pain,
The bondsman and the slave,
And whisper sweet the breath of God,
Upon my humble grave.

Oh, cold March wind that pierce the dark,
You cry in aged tones,
For souls of folk you've brought to God,
But still you bear the moans,
Oh, weeping wind that lonely night,
My mother's heart is sore,
Oh, Lord of all breathe, of freedom's breath
That she may weep no more.