The World’s Wheels.
Aw steady an’ easy t’oud world’s wheels wod go,
If t’folk wod be honist an’ try to keep so;
An’ at steead o’ been hastey at ivvery wun,
Let us enquire afore we condemn.
A man may do wrong an’ scarce be to blame,
Or a woman be bad e nout bud her name;
But which on us ought ta say ought unto them,
Unless we enquire afore we condemn.
If a Rose she sud flurish her sisters among,
It izant ta say her poor sister is wrong;
That blighted one there may be nipt in the stem,
So let us enquire before we condemn.
Yond vessel that tussels the ocean to plough,
While waves they are dashing and winds they do blow,
May be shattered asunder from stern unto stem,
So let us inquire before we condemn.
We are certain o’ wun thing an’ that izant two,
If we do nothing wrong we have nothing to rue;
Yet many a bright eye may be full to the brim,
So let us inquire afore we condemn.
Then speak not so harshly, withdraw that rash word,
’Tis wrong to condemn till the story is heard;
If it worrant for summat sho might be a gem,
So let us enquire afore we condemn.
Full o’ Doubts an’ Fears.
Sweet sing the birds in lowly strains,
All mingled in their song;
For lovely Spring is here again,
And Winter’s cold is gone.
All things around seem filled with glee,
And joy swells every breast;
The buds are peeping from each bush,
Where soon the birds will rest.
The meadows now are fresh and green,
The flowers are bursting forth,
And nature seems to us serene,
And shows her sterling worth.
The lark sores high up in the air,
We listen to his lays;
He knows no sorrow nor no care,
Nor weariness o’ days.
But men, though born of noble birth,
Assigned for higher spheres,
Walks his sad journey here on earth
All full o’ doubts and fears.
It Izant so we Me.
Bright seems the days when I was young
Fra thought, fra care, fra sorrow free;
As wild waves rippled i’ the sun,
Rolled gaily on, and so wi’ me.
More bright the flowers when I was young,
More sweet the birds sang on the tree;
While pleasure and contentment flung
Her smiles on them, and so wi’ me.
The naked truth, I told when young,
Though tempted wi hypocracy;
Though some embraced from it I sprang,
And said it izant so wi’ me.
Aw saw the canting jibs when young,
Of saintly, sulky misery;
Yet poked aw melancholy’s ribs,
And said it izant so wi’ me.
Though monny a stone when aw was young,
His strong upon me memory;
Aw thru when young and hed um flung,
If they forgive ’tis so wi’ me.
Could money buy o’ Nature’s mart,
Again our brightest days to see;
Ther’s monny a wun wod pawn ther shirt,
Or else they’d buy—and so wi me.
Yet after all aw oft luke back,
Without a pang o’ days gone past,
An hope all t’ wreng aw did when young,
May be forgeen to me at last.