The while wi’ strivèn hope, we men,
Though a-ruèn time’s undoèn,
Still do tweil an’ tweil ageän.
In wall-zide sheädes, by leafy bowers,
Underneath the swaÿèn tree,
O’ leäte, as round the bloomèn flowers,
Lowly humm’d the giddy bee,
My childern’s small left voot did smite
Their tiny speäde, the while the right
Did trample on a deäisy head,
Bezïde the flower’s dousty bed,
An’ though their work wer idle then,
They a-smilèn, an’ a-tweilèn,
Still did work an’ work ageän.
Now their little limbs be stronger,
Deeper now their vaïce do sound;
An’ their little veet be longer,
An’ do tread on other ground;
An’ rust is on the little bleädes
Ov all the broken-hafted speädes,
An’ flow’rs that wer my hope an’ pride
Ha’ long agoo a-bloom’d an’ died,
But still as I did leäbor then
Vor love ov all them childern small,
Zoo now I’ll tweil an’ tweil ageän.
When the smokeless tun’s a-growèn
Cwold as dew below the stars,
An’ when the vier noo mwore’s a-glowèn
Red between the window bars,
We then do laÿ our weary heads
In peace upon their nightly beds,
An’ gi’e woone sock, wi’ heavèn breast,
