Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/156

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ev’ry day mid bring a while O’ eäse vrom all woone’s ceäre an’ tweil, The welcome evenèn, when ’tis sweet Vor tired friends wi’ weary veet, But litsome hearts o’ love, to meet; An’ yet while weekly times do roll, The best vor body an’ vor soul &emsp;’S the church an’ happy Zunday.

Vor then our loosen’d souls do rise Wi’ holy thoughts beyond the skies, As we do think o’ Him that shed His blood vor us, an’ still do spread His love upon the live an’ dead; An’ how He gi’ed a time an’ pleäce To gather us, an’ gi’e us greäce,— &emsp;The church an’ happy Zunday.

There, under leänen mossy stwones, Do lie, vorgot, our fathers’ bwones, That trod this groun’ vor years agoo, When things that now be wold wer new; An’ comely maïdens, mild an’ true, That meäde their sweet-hearts happy brides, An’ come to kneel down at their zides &emsp;At church o’ happy Zundays.

’Tis good to zee woone’s naïghbours come Out drough the churchyard, vlockèn hwome, As woone do nod, an’ woone do smile, An’ woone do toss another’s chile; An’ zome be sheäken han’s, the while Poll’s uncle, chuckèn her below Her chin, do tell her she do grow, &emsp;At church o’ happy Zundays.