Some Fooak
by Joseph Baron
Ther’s some fooak are olez on t’ chunner
An’ there’s nob’dy can tell wot abeawt;
An’ there’s others as look black as thunner
They’re as sacklus as hens are i’ t’ mowt.
They’re young an’ they’re strong an’ they’re healthy,
They possess every God-given sense:
But they’re not wot they choose to call ‘wealthy’ –
Meanin’ sov’rins an’ shillin’s an’ pence.
A mon may have brass an’ be ailin’ –
May be fizzickt his life through bi’ quacks –
May be worried to death abeawt failin’ –
In his morals may be rayther lax –
May be vulgar, be childless an’ friendless –
Hev no pleasures but bettin’ an’ booze –
May hev worries and warches ‘at’s endless,
Yet – be envied bi theawsands o’ foos.
Poor foo’s it’s for shadows yer pining
An’ yo’ve substance reight under yo’r een;
Up aboon yo’ God’s lamps may be shining
As yo’ rake up yo’r muck-heaps so keen:
An’ yo’ scrape an’ heap up an’ keep sighing,
An’ God’s marvels are lost to yo’r seet,
While yo’r brief stay on earth here is flying,
Then, of a sudden – how sudden! it’s neet.
Oh, look on yon breet orb descendin’
In a glory o’ crimson an’ gowd –
On yon ocean as tempests are rendin’
Wi’ a fury, sublime to behold,
On each bonny green vale an’ each river,
On mountains, on brids and on trees,
Ay, an’ think as yo’ thank the Great Giver,
Could earth’s treasure buy marvels like these?
Oh list to sweet song as is ringing
From yon thrush to his mate up i’ t’ nest –
Stop an’ hearken yon young muther singing
To her babe as it smiles at her breast;
Hear each hard-workin’ thing ‘at’s created
As it utters it’s innermost bliss –
Is sich rapture bi gowd estimated?
Could a million buy music like this?
Hev yo’ just a green hill to walk up to,
An’ a song fro’ a linnet or lark?
Hev yo’ just an owd crony to talk to,
Or a book, when yo’ve finished yo’r wark?
Hev yo’ wife and young childer as love yo’
An’ mek breeter yo’r life wi’ their mirth?
Then, thank God in His Heaven above yo’ –
For yo’r t’blessedest mortal on earth!