Hands like mine worn't made to bother
Wi sich ginger-breead as thee.
Innocent an' helpless craytur,
All soa pure an' undefiled!
If ther's ought belangs to heaven
Lives o'th' eearth, it is a child.
An its hard to think, 'at some day,
If tha'rt spared to weather throo,
'At tha'll be a man, an' someway
Have to feight life's battles too.