Oh! no, mid all o’s try to spend
Our passèn time to zome good end,
An’ zoo vrom day to day teäke heed,
By mind, an’ han’, by word or deed;
To lessen evil, and increase
The growth o’ righteousness an’ peäce,
A-speakèn words o’ lovèn-kindness,
Openèn the eyes o’ blindness;
Helpèn helpless striver’s weakness,
Cheerèn hopeless grievers’ meekness,
Meäkèn friends at every meetèn,
Veel the happier vor their greetèn;
Zoo that vew could tell us true,
“I be never the better vor zeèn o’ you.”
No, let us even try to win
Zome little good vrom sons o’ sin,
An’ let their evils warn us back
Vrom teäkèn on their hopeless track,
Where we mid zee so dear’s the zun
That harm a-done is harm a-won,
An’ we mid cry an’ tell em true,
“I be even the better vor zeèn o’ you.”
PITY.
Good Meäster Collins! aye, how mild he spoke
Woone day o’ Mercy to zome cruel vo’k.
“No, no. Have Mercy on a helpless head,
An’ don’t be cruel to a zoul,’ he zaid.
“When Babylon’s king woonce cast ’ithin
The viery furnace, in his spite,
The vetter’d souls whose only sin
Wer praÿer to the God o’ might,
He vound a fourth, ’ithout a neäme,
