Did seem to come into our hands
Vrom others that own’d em avore;
An’ all zickness, an’ sorrow, an’ need,
Seem’d to die wi’ the wold vo’k a-dyèn,
An’ leäve us vor ever a-freed
Vrom evils our vorefathers bore.
But happy be childern the while
They have elders a-livèn to love em,
An’ teäke all the wearisome tweil
That zome hands or others mus’ do;
Like the low-headed shrubs that be warm,
In the lewth o’ the trees up above em,
A-screen’d vrom the cwold blowèn storm
That the timber avore em must rue.
MEÄRY’S SMILE.
When mornèn winds, a-blowèn high,
Do zweep the clouds vrom all the sky,
An’ laurel-leaves do glitter bright,
The while the newly broken light
Do brighten up, avore our view,
The vields wi’ green, an’ hills wi’ blue;
What then can highten to my eyes
The cheerful feäce ov e’th an’ skies,
But Meäry’s smile, o’ Morey’s Mill,
My rwose o’ Mowy Lea.
An’ when, at last, the evenèn dews
Do now begin to wet our shoes;
An’ night’s a-ridèn to the west,
To stop our work, an’ gi’e us rest,
Oh! let the candle’s ruddy gleäre
