Oud stocks on thee I first began
To be that curious crater man,
Ta travel thro this life’s short span,
By fate’s dekree;
Till aw fulfilled grate Nater’s plan,
An’ cease ta be.

Wen sikkness cums ta thee aw fly,
Ta sooth mi pain an’ cloise mi eye;
On thee, alas! aw sumtimes sigh,
An’ ofttimes weep;—
Till by sum means, aw knaw not why,
I fall asleep.

Wen tore wi’ labor or wi pane,
Ha often aw am glad an’ fane,
Ta seek thi downy brest again;
Yet heaves mi breast
For wretches in the pelting rain,
At hev no rest.

How oft within thy little space
Does mony a thout oft find a place?
Aw think at past, an’ things ta face,
My mind hiz filled,
Th’ wild gooise too aw offen chase,
An’ cassels bild.

O centre place o’ rest an’ greefe,
Disease or deeath, a kind releef,
Monarks of a time so breef,
Alternate reign,
Till death’s grim reaper cut the sheaf,
And clears the plain.

Aw, awm convinced by thee alone,
This grate important truth ta awn,
On thee aw furst saw life, ’tis knawn,
E mortal birth;
Till a few fleetin haars flown,
Then back ta earth.