I spoke zome word that meäde en smile,
O’ girt vo’k’s wealth an’ poor vo’k’s tweil,
As if I pin’d, vor want ov greäce,
To have a lord’s or squier’s pleäce.
“No, no,” he zaid, “what God do zend
Is best vor all o’s in the end,
An’ all that we do need the mwost
Do come to us wi’ leäst o’ cost;—
Why, who could live upon the e’th
’Ithout God’s gïft ov aïr vor breath?
Or who could bide below the zun
If water didden rise an’ run?
An’ who could work below the skies
If zun an’ moon did never rise?
Zoo aïr an’ water, an’ the light,
Be higher gifts, a-reckon’d right,
Than all the goold the darksome claÿ
Can ever yield to zunny daÿ:
But then the aïr is roun’ our heads,
Abroad by day, or on our beds;
Where land do gi’e us room to bide,
Or seas do spread vor ships to ride;
An’ He do zend his waters free,
Vrom clouds to lands, vrom lands to sea;
An’ mornèn light do blush an’ glow,
’Ithout our tweil—’ithout our ho.
“Zoo let us never pine, in sin,
Vor gifts that ben’t the best to win;
The heaps o’ goold that zome mid pile,
Wi’ sleepless nights an’ peaceless tweil;
Or manor that mid reach so wide
As Blackmwore is vrom zide to zide,
Or kingly swaÿ, wi’ life or death,
