But when the wicked, now so strong,
Shall stan' vor judgment, peäle as ashes,
By the souls that rued their wrong,
Wi' tears a-hangèn on their lashes—
Then wïthstanders they shall deäre
The leäst ov all to meet wi' there,
Mid be the helpless souls that now
Below their wrongvul might mid bow.
Sweet childern o' the dead, bereft
Ov all their goods by guile an' forgèn;