Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/468

452 An’ zoo, whenever we mid hurt, &emsp;Vrom spite, or vrom disdaïn, A brother’s soul, or meäke en smert &emsp;Wi’ keen an’ needless païn, Another that we midden know Is always wi’ en in his woe. Vor you do know our Lord ha’ cried, “By faïth my bretheren do bide In me the livèn vine, &emsp;As branches in a livèn tree; Whatever you’ve a-done to mine &emsp;Is all a-done to me. Oh! when the new-born child, the e’th’s new guest, Do lie an’ heave his little breast, In pillow’d sleep, wi’ sweetest breath O’ sinless days drough rwosy lips a-drawn; Then, if a han’ can smite en in his dawn O’ life to darksome death, Oh! where can Pity ever vwold &emsp;Her wings o’ swiftness vrom their holy flight, To leäve a heart o’ flesh an’ blood so cwold &emsp;At such a touchèn zight? An’ zoo mid meek-soul’d Pity still Be zent to check our evil will, An’ keep the helpless soul from woe, &emsp;An’ hold the hardened heart vrom sin, Vor they that can but mercy show &emsp;Shall all their Father’s mercy win.”