Sweet childern o’ the dead, bereft
Ov all their goods by guile an’ forgèn;
Souls o’ driven sleäves that left
Their weäry limbs a-mark’d by scourgèn;
They that God ha’ call’d to die
Vor truth ageän the worold’s lie,
An’ they that groan’d an’ cried in vaïn,
A-bound by foes’ unrighteous chaïn.
The maïd that selfish craft led on
To sin, an’ left wi’ hope a-blighted;
Starvèn workmen, thin an’ wan,
Wi’ hopeless leäbour ill requited;
Souls a-wrong’d, an’ call’d to vill
Wi’ dread, the men that us’d em ill.
When might shall yield to right as pliant
As a dwarf avore a giant.
When there, at last, the good shall glow
In starbright bodies lik’ their Seäviour,
Vor all their flesh noo mwore mid show,
The marks o’ man’s unkind beheäviour:
Wi’ speechless tongue, an’ burnèn cheak,
The strong shall bow avore the weäk,
An’ vind that helplessness, wi’ right,
Is strong beyond all e’thly might.
DANIEL DWITHEN, THE WISE CHAP.
Dan Dwithen wer the chap to show
His naïghbours mwore than they did know,
Vor he could zee, wi’ half a thought,
What zome could hardly be a-taught;
An’ he had never any doubt
Whatever ’twer, but he did know’t,
An’ had a-reach’d the bottom o’t,
Or soon could meäke it out.
