'TWER good what Meäster Collins spoke

O’ spite to two poor spitevul vo'k, folk

When woone twold tother o’ the two one

“ I be never the better vor zeèn o’ you.”

If soul to soul, as Christians should,

Would always try to do zome good,

“How vew,” he cried, “would zee our feäce

A-brighten'd up wi’ smiles o’ greäce,

An’ tell us, or could tell us true,

I be never the better vor zeèn o’ you.”

A man mus’ be in evil ceäse case (plight)

To live 'ithin a land o’ greäce,

Wi’ nothèn that a soul can read

O’ goodness in his word or deed;

To still a breast a-heav'd wi’ sighs,

Or dry the tears o’ weepèn eyes;

To staÿ a vist that spite ha’ wrung, fist, clenched

Or cool the het ov anger's tongue: heat

Or bless, or help, or gi'e, or lend; give

Or to the friendless stand a friend,

An’ zoo that all could tell en true, so, him

“ I be never the better vor zeèn o’ you.”

Oh! no, mid all o's try to spend may

Our passèn time to zome good end,

An’ zoo vrom day to day teäke heed,

By mind, an’ han’, by word or deed;

To lessen evil, and increase

The growth o’ righteousness an’ peäce,

A-speakèn words o’ lovèn-kindness,

Openèn the eyes o’ blindness;

Helpèn helpless strivers’ weakness,

Cheerèn hopeless grievers’ meekness,

Meäken friends at every meetèn,

Veel the happier vor their greetèn;

Zoo that vew could tell us true, so

“I be never the better vor zeèn o’ you.”

No, let us even try to win

Zome little good vrom sons o’ sin,

An’ let their evils warn us back

Vrom teäkèn on their hopeless track,

Where we mid zee so clear's the zun may

That harm a-done is harm a-won,

An’ we mid cry an’ tell em true,

“I be even the better vor zeèn o’ you.”