But when our work is right, a jaÿ
Do come to bless us in its traïn,
An' hardships ha' zome good to paÿ
The thoughtvul soul vor all their päin:
The het do sweetèn sheäde,
An' weary lim's ha' meäde
A bed o' slumber, still an' sound,
By woody hill or grassy mound.
An' while I zot in sweet delay
Below an elem on a hill,