An' her hair neglected, showin
Her's has been a sorry case;
O, mi heart felt sad at th' seet,
When tha shov'd her into th' street
Ther wor once a "Man," mich greater
Nor thisen wi' all thi brass,
Him, awr blessed Mediator,—
Wod He scorn that little lass?
Noa, He called 'em, an' He blessed 'em,
An' His hands divine caress'd 'em.