William Barnes (1801–1886)

AS I wer readèn ov a stuone

In Grenley church-yard all aluone,

A little mâid runn’d up wi’ pride

To zee me there, an’ push’d a-zide

A bunch o’ bennits that did hide

A vess her faether, as she zed,

Put up above her mother’s head,

To tell how much ’e lov’d her.

The vess wer very good, but shart,

I stood an’ larn’d en off by heart:—

‘Mid God, dear Miary, gi’e me griace

To vind, lik’ thee, a better pliace,

Wher I oonce muore mid zee thy fiace;

An’ bring thy childern up to know

His word, that th mid come an’ show

Thy soul how much I lov’d thee.’

‘Wher ’s faether, then,’ I zed, ‘my chile?’

‘Dead, too,’ she nswer’d wi’ a smile;

‘An’ I an’ brother Jim da bide

At Betty White’s, o’ t’other zide

O’ road.’ ‘Mid He, my chile,’ I cried,

‘That ’s faether to the faetherless,

Become thy faether now, an’ bless,

An’ keep, an’ leäd, an’ love thee.’

Though she’ve a-lost, I thought, so much,

Still He don’t let the thoughts ’t touch

Her litsome heart by day ar night;

An’ zoo, if we cood tiake it right,

Da show He’ll miake his burdens light

To weaker souls, an’ that his smile

Is sweet upon a harmless chile,

When th be dead that lov’d it.