Owd Jone
A Pilgrim aw’ve bin o’ mi days,
Bu’ awm gettin’ to th’ eend o’ mi ways;
Aw hanno much lunger to roam
It’s toime aw wur shapin’ fur whoam.
Aw conno see weel wi four een,
An’ th’ trees looken breawn sted o’ green;
Eh! th’ lads ’at aw fowt wi’ i’ play
Han o on ‘em powlert away,
An’ th’ lasses aw donst wi’ i’ th’ lone
Lee under a blanket o’ stone.
At neetfo brids seeken ther nest
An’ fowd up ther wings for a rest
Aw bithink me mi mother ’ud say,
“Neaw Jone, lad, come in fro’ thi play,
It’s toime tha wur safe i’ thi bed,”
An’ hoo kist me an’ patted mi yed,
An’ hoo billed me up snugly an’ warm,
An’ sed “Theer lad, tha’ll happen no harm.”
Eh! th’ Power at set her love i’ choon
Still orders aw things up aboon,
An’ so aw’s lay me deawn i’ trust
That he who made me eawt o’ dust,
An’ gan me to mi mother’s breast
Will end mi day wi’ welcome rest.