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They rob thersels o' ther awn reeght.
They reeally winnut cum te t' leeght,
Lest o' ther sins they git a seeght.
An' sud be seeav'd;
An' be ov all ther plissures sweet,
At yance bereeav'd.
Till deep sunk doon i' t' burning leeake
They then begin te feear an' queeake,
Where vengeance can neea pity teeake,
Which theer hez sent 'em,
An' furious feeinds i' horrid sheeape,
Mun theer torment 'em.
They leeak for sum yan te deliver.
Bud theer they'll finnd neea cumfort nivver,
Theer they may weeap an' wail for ivver,
Ther harvest's past;
Ther summer's ended, refuge fails 'em.
An' they're lost.
Ther dreeadful doom an' destiny.
Let us git all we can te flee,
By preeachin Christ where'er we be,
I' deead an' word,
Till all oor frinds ther folly see,
An' ton te God.
"Ah beean i' t' way noo seeaven yeear,"
An' as he spak, a briny teear
Ran doon his cheeks as crystal cleear,
Fra' owther ee;
"Thenk God, Ah feeal whahl Ah sit heer,
'Tis weel wi' me.
