Poems by "Cushag"/The Church Brings us Home
THE CHURCH BRINGS US HOME.
A COOISH, a kiss, an' a whisper,
A sooryin' summer's day;
Then work an' childher an' bother
The ress of the way.
Some takes the road by the Chappal,
An' some houls on by the Church,
An' some falls down by the wayside,
Lef all in the lurch.
I'm used on the Chappal for all—
It's homelier like in the dark,
But himself was took at the Pazofl,
An' larnt for Parish Clerk.
They're coming" to see me reglar—
Church wans an’ Chappal wans too;
An' I'm not say in' no ill of neither—
It's juss how we've grew.
The Church wans is middlin' free,
An' passin' the time o' day,
An' Church was in before the Chappal,
As th' oul people say.
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.