The while the drippèn tow’r did tell
The hour, wi’ storm-be-smother’d bell,
An’ over ev’ry flower’s bud
Roll’d on the flood, ’ithin the dell.
But when the zun arose, an’ lik’ a rwose
Shone the mornèn sky;
An’ roun’ the woak, the wind a-blowèn weak,
Softly whiver’d by.
Though drown’d wer still the deaïsy bed
Below the flood, its feäce instead
O’ flow’ry grown’, below our shoes
Show’d feäirest views o’ skies o’er head.
An’ zoo to try if all our faith is true
Jaÿ mid end in tears,
An’ hope, woonce feäir, mid saddèn into fear,
Here in e’thly years.
But He that tried our soul do know
To meäke us good amends, an’ show
Instead o’ things a-took awaÿ,
Some higher jaÿ that He’ll bestow.
COMEN HWOME.
As clouds did ride wi’ heästy flight,
An’ woods did sway upon the height,
An’ bleädes o’ grass did sheäke, below
The hedge-row bremble’s swingèn bow,
I come back hwome where winds did zwell,
In whirls along the woody gleädes,
On primrwose beds, in windy sheädes,
To Burnley’s dark-tree’d dell.
