Our Father's Works

Ah! I do think, as I do tread
Theäse path, wi' elems overhead,
A-climèn slowly up vrom Bridge,
By easy steps, to Broadwoak Ridge,
That all theäse roads that we do bruise
Wi' hosses' shoes, or heavy lwoads;
An' hedges' bands, where trees in row
Do rise an' grow aroun' the lands,
Be works that we've a-vound a-wrought
By our vorefathers' ceäre an' thought.
They clear'd the groun' vor grass to teäke
The pleäce that bore the bremble breäke,
An' draïn'd the fen, where water spread,
A-lyèn dead, a beäne to men;
An' built the mill, where still the wheel
Do grind our meal, below the hill;
An' turn'd the bridge, wi' arch a-spread,
Below a road, vor us to tread.
They vound a pleäce, where we mid seek
The gifts o' greäce vrom week to week;
An' built wi' stwone, upon the hill,
A tow'r we still do call our own;
With bells to use, an' meäke rejaïce,
Wi' giant vaïce, at our good news:
An' lifted stwones an' beams to keep
The raïn an' cwold vrom us asleep.
Zoo now mid nwone ov us vorget
The pattern our vorefathers zet;
But each be fäin to underteäke
Some work to meäke vor others' gaïn,
That we mid leäve mwore good to sheäre,
Less ills to bear, less souls to grieve,
An' when our hands do vall to rest,
It mid be vrom a work a-blest.