An' his heart oppens wide—he's soa glad
Woll he taks one o'th little black hands,
An' he begs him to tell him his name:
But th' child glances timidly raand—
Poor craytur! he connot forshame
To lift up his een off o'th graand.
But at last he finds courage to spaik,
An' he tells him they call him poor Joa;
'At his mother is sickly an' waik;
An' his father went deead long ago;