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The Chappal wans is high, though,
More prouder an' wearin' falls,
An' the power of fine discoorsin'
Thass at them when they calls.
But Church houls out her arrums
For every chile that's born;
An' it's Her that puts the blessin'
On the marriage morn.
When the work an' bother is over,
An' childher have left us to roam,
Like a tandhar oul' nursing mother
The Church brings us home.
An' then whether Church or Chappal,
Or fell by the way—we must come;
For without never makin' no difference,
The Church brings us Home.
