An' leäve us vor ever a-freed

Vrom evils our vorefathers bore.

But happy be childern the while

They have elders a-livèn to love em,

An' teäke all the wearisome tweil

That zome hands or others mus' do;

Like the low-headed shrubs that be warm,

In the lewth o' the trees up above em,

A-screen'd vrom the cwold blowèn storm

That the timber avore em must rue.