Chapter 11

But ther is One, hears ivvery grooan, We needn't to remind Him; An He'll net leeav thi all alooan; God give thee grace to find Him!

An may be send His angels daan, Thi feet throo dangers guidin; Until He sets thee in His craan,-- A gem, in light abidin.

Song for th' Hard Times, (1879.)

Nah chaps, pray dooant think it's a sarmon awm praichin, If aw tell yo some nooations at's entered mi pate; For ther's nubdy should turn a cold shoulder to taichin, If th' moral be whoalsum an th' matter be reight. We're goin throo a time o' bad trade an depression, An scoors o' poor crayturs we meet ivvery day, 'At show bi ther faces they've had a hard lesson:-- That's a nooation aw had as aw went on mi way.

Aw couldn't but think as throo th' streets aw wor walkin, An lukt i' shop winders whear fin'ry's displayed, If they're able to sell it we're fooils to keep tawkin, An liggin all th' blame on this slackness o' trade. Tho times may be hard, yet ther's wealth, aye, an plenty, An if fowk do ther duty aw'll venter to say, Ther's noa reason a honest man's plate should be empty:-- That's a nooation aw had as aw went on mi way.

When it's freezin an snowin, an cold winds are blowin, Aw see childer hawf covered wi two or three rags; As they huddle together to shelter throo th' weather, An think thersen lucky to find some dry flags; Wol others i' carriages, gay wi fine paintin, Lapt up i' warm furs, they goa dashin away; Do they think o' them poor little childer at's faintin?-- That's a nooation aw had as aw went on mi way.

All honor to them who have proved thersen willin, To help the unfortunate ones from their stooar; An if freely bestowed, be it pence, pound, or shillin, They shall nivver regret what they've given to th' poor. An if we all do what we can for our naybor, We shall sooin drive this bitter starvation away; Till th' time when gooid wages reward honest labor:-- That's a nooation aw had as aw went on mi way.

But theas trubbles an trials may yet prove a blessin, If when th' sun shines agean we all strive to mak hay; An be careful to waste nowt o' drinkin an dressin, But aght ov fair wages put summat away. When adversity's claad agean hangs o'er the nation, We can wait for th' return ov prosperity's ray; An noa mooar find awr land i' this sad situation:-- That's a nooation aw had as aw went on mi way.

An ther's one matter mooar, at aw cannot but mention, For it points aght a moral at shouldn't be missed; Can't yo see ha they use ivvery aid an invention, To grind daan yor wage when yo cannot resist. If yo strike, they dooant care, for yor foorced to knock under, Yor net able to live if they stop off yer pay; Will it bring workin men to ther senses aw wonder?-- That's a nooation aw had as aw went on mi way.

Some are lukkin for help from this chap or tother, An pinnin ther faith on pet parliament men; But to feight ther own battles finds them lots o' bother, An if help's what yo want yo mun luk to yorsen. If we're blessed wi gooid health, an have brains, booans, an muscle, An keep a brave heart, we shall yet win the fray; An be wiser an stronger for havin this tussle:-- That's a nooation held then, an it holds to this day.

Stir thi Lass!

Come lassie be stirrin, for th' lark's up ith' lift, An th' dew drops are hastin away; An th' mist oth' hillside is beginnin to shift, An th' flaars have all wakkened for th' day. Tha promised to meet me beside this thorn tree, An darlin, thi sweet face awm langing to see; When tha arn't here ther's noa beauty for me; Soa stir thi lass, stir thi, Or else awst come for thi, For tha knows what tha tell'd me last neet tha wod be.

Come lassie be stirrin, awm here all alooan; Tha'rt sewerly net slumb'rin still; Th' lark's finished his tune an th' dewdrops have gooan, An th' mist's rolled away ovver th' hill. Net a wink have aw slept sin aw left thee last neet, Lukkin forrad to th' time when tha sed we should meet; But it's past, an mi sweetheart is still aght oth' seet; But its cappin, lass, cappin, 'At tha should be nappin, When tha knows what tha promised at th' end o' awr street.

Awm weary o' waitin, aw'll off to mi wark, Awst be bated a quarter,--that's flat;-- If tha's nobbut been fooilin me just for a lark, Tha may find thi mistak when to lat. Aw wanted to mak thi mi wife, for aw thowt, Tha'd prove thisen just sich a mate as aw sowt; But it seems tha'rt a false-hearted, young gooid-for-nowt! But aw see thi, lass, see thi! God bless thi! forgie me! For tha'rt truer an fairer an dearer nor owt.

Tother Day.

As awm sittin enjoyin mi pipe, An tooastin mi shins beside th' hob, Aw find ther's a harvest quite ripe, O' thowts stoored away i' mi nob. An aw see things as plainly to-neet, 'At long years ago vanished away,-- As if they'd but just left mi seet, Tother day.

Aw remember mi pranks when at schooil, When mischievous tricks kept me soa thrang; An mi maister declared me a fooil,-- An maybe, he wor net soa far wrang. Ha mi lessons awd skip throo, or miss, To give me mooar chonces for play; An aw fancy aw went throo all this, Tother day.

Aw remember mi coortin days too,-- What a felly aw fancied misen; An aw swore at mi sweetheart wor true,-- For mi faith knew noa falterin then. Aw remember ha jealous an mad, Aw felt, when shoo turned me away, An left a poor heartbrokken lad, Tother day.

Aw remember when hung o' mi arm, To th' church went mi blushin' young bride; Ha aw glooated o'er ivvery charm, An swell'd like a frog i' mi pride. An th' world seem'd a fooitball to me, To kick when inclined for a play; An life wor a jolly gooid spree,-- Tother day.

Aw remember mi day dreeams o' fame, An aw reckoned what wealth aw should win But alas! aw confess to mi shame,-- Aw leeav offwhear aw thowt to begin, Mi chief joy is to dreeam o' what's pass'd, For mi future, one hope sheds its ray, An awm driftin along varry fast, To that day.

Happy Sam's Song.

Varry monny years ago, when this world wor rather young, A varry wicked sarpent, wi' a varry oily tongue, Whispered summat varry nowty into Mistress Adam's ear; An shoo pluckt a little apple 'at soa temptingly hung near. Then shoo ait this dainty fruit shoo'd been tell'd shoo mudn't touch, An shoo gave some to her husband, but it wornt varry much:-- But sin that fatal day, he wor tell'd, soa it wor sed, 'At henceforth wi' a sweeaty broo, he'd have to earn his breead. An all awr lords an princes, an ladies great an grand, Have all sprung off that common stock a laborer i' the land; Soa aw think ther airs an graces are little but a sham, An aw wodn't change 'em places wi' hardworkin, Happy Sam.

Awm contented wi' mi share, Rough an ready tho' mi fare, An aw strive to do mi duty to mi naybor; If yo wonder who aw am, Well,--mi name is Happy Sam; Awm a member ov the multitude who labor.

When aw've worked throo morn to neet for a varry little brass, Yet a smilin welcome greets me from mi buxom, bonny lass; An two tiny little toddles come to meet me at mi door, An they think noa less ov daddy's kiss becoss that daddy's poor; An as aw sit to smook mi pipe, mi treasures on mi knee; Aw think ther's net a man alive 'at's hawf as rich as me; Aw wodn't change mi station wi' a king upon his throne, For ivvery joy araand me, honest labor's made mi own. An we owe noa man a penny 'at we're net prepared to pay, An we're tryin hard to save a bit agean a rainy day. Soa aw cry a fig for care! Awm contented as aw am,-- An bless the fate 'at made me plain, hardworkin, Happy Sam.

Awm contented wi' mi share, Rough an ready tho' mi fare, An aw strive to do mi duty to mi naybor; If yo wonder who aw am, Well, mi name is Happy Sam, Awm a member ov the multitude who labor.

Gradely Weel off.

Draw thi cheer nigher th' foir, put th' knittin away, Put thi tooas up o'th' fender to warm: We've booath wrought enuff, aw should think, for a day, An a rest willn't do us mich harm. Awr lot's been a rough en, an tho' we've grown old, We shall have to toil on to its end; An altho' we can booast nawther silver nor gold, Yet we ne'er stood i'th' want ov a Friend.

Soa cheer up, old lass, Altho' we've grown grey, An we havn't mich brass, Still awr hearts can be gay: For we've health an contentment an soa we can say, 'At we're gradely weel off after all.

As aw coom ovver th' moor, a fine carriage went by, An th' young squire wor sittin inside; An wol makkin mi manners aw smothered a sigh, As for th' furst time aw saw his young bride. Shoo wor white as a sheet, an soa sickly an sad, Wol aw could'nt but pity his lot; Thinks aw, old an grey, yet awm richer to-day, For aw've health an content i' mi cot. Soa cheer up, old lass, &c.

Gie me th' pipe off o'th' hob, an aw'll tak an odd whiff, For aw raillee feel thankful to-neet; An altho' mi booans wark, an mi joints are all stiff, Yet awm able to keep mi heart leet. If we've had a fair share ov th' world's trubble an care, We mun nivver forget i' times past, Ther wor allus one Friend, His help ready to lend, An He'll nivver forsake us at last. Soa cheer up, old lass, &c.

Tho' we've noa pew at th' church, an we sit whear we can, An th' sarmon we dooant understand; An th' sarvice is all ov a new fangled plan, An th' mewsic's suppooased to be grand,-- We can lift up awr hearts when we come hooam at neet, As we sing th' old psalms ovver agean; An tho' old crackt voices dooant saand varry sweet, He knows varry weel what we mean.

Soa cheer up, old lass, Altho' we've grown grey, An we havn't mich brass, Still awr hearts can be gay; For we've health an contentment, an soa we can say, 'At we're gradely weel off after all.

Is it Reight?

Awm noa radical, liberal nor toory, Awm a plain spokken, hard-workin man; Aw cooart nawther fame, wealth nor glory, But try to do th' best 'at aw can. But when them who hold lofty positions, Are unmindful of all but thersen,-- An aw know under what hard conditions, Thaasands struggle to prove thersen men, It sets me a thinkin an thinkin, Ther's summat 'at wants setting reight; An wol th' wealthy all seem to be winkin, Leeavin poor fowk to wonder an wait,-- Is it cappin to find one's hooap sickens? Or at workers should join in a strike? When they see at distress daily thickens, Till despairin turns into dislike? Is it strange they should feel discontented, An repine at ther comfortless lot, When they see lux'ry rife in the mansion, An starvation at th' door ov the cot? Is it reight 'at theas hard-handed workers Should wear aght ther life day bi day, An find 'at th' reward for ther labors Is ten per cent knockt off ther pay? But we're tell'd 'at we owt to be thankful If we've plenty to ait an to drink; An its sinful to question one's betters,-- We wor sent here to work, net to think. Then lets try to appear quite contented, For this maathful o' summat to ait; Its for what us poor fowk wor invented,-- But awm blowed if aw think at its reight.

A Yorksher Bite.

Bless all them bonny lasses, I' Yorksher born an bred! Ther beauty nooan surpasses, Complete i'th' heart an th' heead. An th' lads,--tho aw've seen monny lands, Ther equal aw ne'er met; For honest hearts an willin hands, They nivver can be bet. Aw nivver hold mi heead soa heigh, Or feel sich true delight, As when fowk point me aght an say, "Thear gooas a Yorksher Bite."

Lily's Gooan.

"Well, Robert! what's th' matter! nah mun, Aw see 'at ther's summat nooan sweet; Thi een luk as red as a sun-- Aw saw that across th' width of a street; Aw hope 'at yor Lily's noa war-- Surelee--th' little thing is'nt deead? Tha wod roor, aw think, if tha dar-- What means ta bi shakin thi heead? Well, aw see bi thi sorrowful e'e At shoo's gooan, an' aw'm soory, but yet, When youngens like her hap ta dee, They miss troubles as some live to hit. Tha mun try an' put up wi' thi loss, Tha's been praad o' that child, aw mun say, But give over freatin, becoss It's for th' best if shoo's been taen away." "A'a! Daniel, it's easy for thee To talk soa, becoss th' loss is'nt thine; But its ommost deeath-blow to me, Shoo wor prized moor nor owt else 'at's mine; An' when aw bethink me shoo's gooan, Mi feelins noa mortal can tell; Mi heart sinks wi' th' weight ov a stooan, An' aw'm capped 'at aw'm livin mysel. Aw shall think on it wor aw to live To be th' age o' Methusla or moor; Tho' shoo said 'at aw had'nt to grieve, We should booath meet agean, shoo wor sure: An' when shoo'd been dreamin one day, Shoo said shoo could hear th' angels call; But shoo could'nt for th' life goa away Till they call'd for her daddy an' all. An' as sooin as aw coom thro' my wark, Shoo'd ha' me to sit bi her bed; An' thear aw've watched haars i'th' dark, An' listened to all 'at shoo's said; Shoo's repeated all th' pieces shoo's learnt, When shoo's been ov a Sundy to th' schooil, An ax'd me what dift'rent things meant, Woll aw felt aw wor nobbut a fooill An' when aw've been gloomy an' sad, Shoo's smiled an' taen hold o' mi hand, An whispered, 'yo munnot freat, dad; Aw'm gooin to a happier land; An' aw'll tell Jesus when aw get thear, 'At aw've left yo here waitin his call; An' He'll find yo a place, niver fear, For ther's room up i' heaven for all.' An' this mornin, when watchin th' sun rise, Shoo said, 'daddy, come nearer to me, Thers a mist comin ovver mi eyes, An' aw find at aw hardly can see.-- Gooid bye!--kiss yor Lily agean,-- Let me pillow mi heead o' yor breast! Aw feel now aw'm freed thro' mi pain; Then Lily shoo went to her rest."

What aw Want.

Gie me a little humble cot, A bit o' garden graand, Set in some quiet an' sheltered spot, Wi' hills an' trees all raand;

An' if besides mi hooam ther flows A little mumuring rill, At sings sweet music as it gooas, Awst like it better still.

Gie me a wife 'at loves me weel, An' childer two or three, Wi' health to sweeten ivery meal, An' hearts brimful o' glee.

Gie me a chonce, wi' honest toil Mi efforts to engage, Gie me a maister who can smile When forkin aght mi wage.

Gie me a friend 'at aw can trust, 'An tell mi secrets to; One tender-hearted, firm an' just, Who sticks to what is true.

Gie me a pipe to smook at neet, A pint o' hooam-brew'd ale, A faithful dog 'at runs to meet Me wi a waggin tail.

A cat to purr o'th' fender rims, To freeten th' mice away; A cosy bed to rest mi limbs Throo neet to commin day.

Gie me all this, an' aw shall be Content, withaat a daat, But if denied, then let me be Content to live withaat.

For 'tisn't th' wealth one may possess Can purchase pleasures true; For he's th' best chonce o' happiness, Whose wants are small an' few.

Latter Wit.

Awm sittin o' that old stooan seeat, Wheear last aw set wi' thee; It seems long years sin' last we met, Awm sure it must be three.

Awm wond'rin what aw sed or did, Or what aw left undone: 'At made thi hook it, an' get wed, To one tha used to shun.

Aw dooant say awm a handsom chap, Becoss aw know awm net; But if aw wor 'ith' mind to change, He isn't th' chap, aw'll bet.

Awm net a scoller, but aw know A long chawk moor ner him; It couldn't be his knowledge box 'At made thi change thi whim.

He doesn't haddle as mich brass As aw do ivery wick: An' if he gets a gradely shop, It's seldom he can stick.

An' then agean,--he goes on th' rant; Nah, that aw niver do;-- Aw allus mark misen content, Wi' an odd pint or two.

His brother is a lazy lout,-- His sister's nooan too gooid,-- Ther's net a daycent 'en ith' bunch,-- Vice seems to run ith' blooid.

An yet th'art happy,--soa they say, That caps me moor ner owt! Tha taks a deal less suitin, lass, Nor iver awst ha' thowt.

Aw saw yo walkin aat one neet, Befoor yo'd getten wed; Aw guess'd what he wor tawkin, tho Aw dooant know what he sed.

But he'd his arm araand thi waist, An tho' thi face wor hid, Aw'll swear aw saw him kuss thi:-- That's what aw niver did.

Aw thowt tha'd order him away, An' mak a fearful row, But tha niver tuk noa nooatice, Just as if tha didn't know.

Awm hawf inclined to think sometimes, Aw've been a trifle soft, Aw happen should a' dun't misen? Aw've lang'd to do it oft.

Thar't lost to me, but if a chonce Should turn up by-an-by, If aw get seck'd aw'll bet me booits, That isn't t'reason why.

A Millionaire.

Aw wodn't gie a penny piece To be a millionaire, For him 'at's little cattle, is The chap wi' little care. Jewels may flash o'er achin broos, An silken robes may hide Bosoms all fair to look upon, Whear braikin hearts abide.

Gie me enuff for daily needs, An just a bit to spend; Enuff to pay mi honest way, An help a strugglin friend. Aw'll be contented it aw keep The wolf from off mi door; Aw'll envy nubdy o' ther brass, An nivver dream awm poor.

Dewdrops 'at shine i'th' early morn Are diamons for me. An jewels glint i' ivvery tint, On th' hill or daan i'th' lea. My sweet musicianers are burds At tune their joyous lay, Araand mi cottage winder, An nivver strike for pay.

Aw lang for noa fine carriages To drag me raand about! Shanks galloway my purpose fits Far better, beyond daat. An when at times aw weary grow, An fain wod have a rest; Aw toddle hooam an goa to bed,-- That allus answers best.

"Insomnia;" ne'er bothers me,-- It's tother way abaght; Aw sleep throo tummelin into bed, Wol th' time to tummel aght. Aw nivver want a "pick-me-up," To tempt mi appetite; Aw ait what's set anent me, An aw relish ivvery bite.

What pleasure has a millionaire 'At aw've net one to match? Awd show 'em awm best off o'th' two, If they'd come up to th' scratch. Ov one thing aw feel sartin sewer, They've mooar nor me to bear; Yo bet! its net all "Lavender," To be a millionaire.

Mi Fayther's Pipe.

AW'VE a treasure yo'd laff if yo saw, But its mem'ries are dear to mi heart; For aw've oft seen it stuck in a jaw, Whear it seem'd to form ommost a part. Its net worth a hawpny, aw know, But its given mooar pleasure maybe, Nor some things at mak far mooar show, An yo can't guess its vally to me.

Mi fayther wor fond ov his pipe, An this wor his favorite clay; An if mi ideas wor ripe, Awd enshrine it ith' folds ov a lay; But words allus fail to express What aw think when aw see its old face; For aw know th' world holds one friend the less, An mi hearth has one mooar vacant place.

Ov trubbles his life had its share, But he kept all his griefs to hissen; Tho aw've oft seen his brow knit wi care, Wol he tried to crack jooaks nah an then. But one comfort he'd ivver i' stooar, An he'd creep to his favorite nook, An seizin his old pipe once mooar, All his trubbles would vanish i' smook.

If his fare should be roughish or scant, He nivver repined at his lot; He seem'd to have all he could want, If he knew he'd some bacca ith' pot. An he'd fill up this little black clay, An as th' reek curled away o'er his heead, Ivvery trace ov his sorrow gave way, An a smile used to dwell thear asteead.

He grew waiker as years rolled along, An his e'eseet an hearin gave way; An his limbs at had once been soa strong, Grew shakier day after day. Yet his heart nivver seem'd to grow old, Tho life's harvest had long been past ripe For his ailments wor allus consoled, When he'd getten a whiff ov his pipe,

Aw'll keep it as long as aw can, For its all aw've been able to save, To bind mi heart still to th' old man, At's moulderin away in his grave. He'd noa strikin virtues to booast, Noa vices for th' world to condemn; To be upright an honest an just, In his lifetime he ne'er forgate them,

As a fayther, kind, patient and true, His mem'ry will allus be dear; For he acted soa far as he knew, For th' best to all th' fowk he coom near. An aw ne'er see this blackened old clay, But aw find mi een dimmed wi a tear; An aw ne'er put th' old relic away But aw wish mi old fayther wor here.

Let th' Lasses Alooan!

What a lot ov advice ther is wasted;-- What praichin is all thrown away;-- Young fowk lang for pleasures untasted, An its little they'll heed what yo say. Old fowk may have wisdom i' plenty, But they're apt to forget just one thing; What suits sixty will hardly fit twenty, An youth ivver will have its fling.

__________

Old Jenny sat silently freeatin,-- Sed Alec, "Pray lass, what's to do?" But his old wife went on wi her knittin, As if shoo'd a task to get throo. Then shoo tuk off her specs, and sed sadly, "Awm capt ha blind some fowk can be; Ther's reason for me lukkin badly, But nowt maks a difference to thee."

Ther's awr Reuben, he's hardly turned twenty, An awr Jim isn't nineteen wol May;-- Aw provide for em gooid things i plenty, An ne'er a wrang word to em say; But they've noa sooiner swoller'd ther drinkin, Nor they're don'd, an away off they've gooan, An awm feared,--for aw connot help thinkin, At they dunnot let th' lasses alooan.

Ther's that forrad young hussy, Sal Sankey, Awm thankful shoo's noa child o' mine:-- When awr Reuben's abaat shoo's fair cranky;-- An shoo's don'd like some grand lady fine. An Reuben's soa soft he can't see it, An aw mud as weel praich to a stooan, He does nowt but grin when aw tell him, To mind, an let th' lasses alooan.

Awr Jim follers Reuben's example, He hasn't a morsel o' wit! An yond lass o' Braans,--shoo's a sample Ov a gigglin, young impitent chit. An he'd cheek to tell me shoo wor bonny,-- One like her!!--Why, shoo's just skin an booan Awd have better nor her if awd onny, But he'd better let th' lasses alooan.

"All th' four went to th' meetin last Sundy,-- Aw dursn't think what they'll do next; An ther worrit one on em at Mundy Could tell what th' chap tuk for his text. Tha may laff, like a child at a bubble, But thi laff may yet end in a grooan; For they're sartin to get into trubble, If they dunnot lei th' lasses alooan."

"Aw connot help laffin, old beauty! Tho' aw know at tha meeans to do reight; Tha's nivver neglected thi duty, An tha's kept thi lads honest an straight. Just think ha ther father behaved when He met thee i'th' days at are gooan; Tha knows ha aw beg'd, an aw slaved, then To win th' lass at aw ne'er let alooan."

"Aw've nivver regretted that mornin, When aw made thi mi bonny young bride, An although we're nah past life's turnin, We still jog along, side bi side. We've shared i' booath pleasures an bothers, An ther's noa reason why we should mooan; An its folly to try to stop others, For lads willn't let th' lasses alooan,"

A Breet Prospect.

As aw passed Wit'orth chapel 'twor just five o'clock, Aw'd mi can full o' teah, an a bundle o' jock; An aw thowt th' bit o' bacca aw puffed on mi way Wor sweeter nor ivver aw'd known it that day. An th' burds sang soa sweetly, An th' sun shone soa breetly, An th' trees lukt soa green;--it wor th' furst day i' May.

Aw wor lazy that mornin, an could'nt help thinkin, As aw'd getten booath braikfast, an dinner, an drinkin, An bacca, an matches,--'at just a odd day For a stroll, could'nt braik monny squares onnyway, But it tuk me noa little, To screw up mi mettle, For if th' wife gate to know aw'd a guess what shoo'd say.