A CIDER SONG

The wine they drink in Paradise

They make in Haute Lorraine;

God brought it burning from the sod

To be a sign and signal rod

That they that drink the blood of God

Shall never thirst again.

The wine they praise in Paradise

They make in Ponterey,

The purple wine of Paradise,

But we have better at the price;

It's wine they praise in Paradise,

It's cider that they pray.

The wine they want in Paradise

They find in Plodder's End,

The apple wine of Hereford,

Of Hafod Hill and Hereford,

Where woods went down to Hereford,

And there I had a friend.

The soft feet of the blessed go

In the soft western vales,

The road the silent saints accord,

The road from Heaven to Hereford,

Where the apple wood of Hereford

Goes all the way to Wales.