From The Hallowed Eve: Dimensions of Culture in a Calendar Festival in Northern Ireland by Jack Santino (Lexington, Ky.: Univ. Press of Kentucky 1998), page 166:


ALL SOULS' NIGHT
John o' the North

The door's on the latch,
The turf burns red,
Turn low the lamp
And go to bed.

For on this night
Them that's away
Could be back again
Out of the clay.

They'll come in the dark
To the warm turf,
From the coul' sod
And the wet surf.

And you in the loft
Can breathe a prayer
For the wakin' dead
That's gathered there.

When the mornin' comes
You'll rise from bed,
And find on the hearth
The turf still red.

Poker and tongs,
And creepie and chair
Will be all the way
You left them there.

But you'll draw the blind
With a touch of fear,
For you'll know in your heart
There was strangers here.

Peace to the soul
Of each wanderin' guest;
God be with them
And give them rest.