AH! Meäster Collins overtook

Our knot o’ vo'k a-stannèn still, folk standing

Last Zunday, up on Ivy Hill,

To zee how strong the corn did look.

An’ he staÿ 'd back awhile an’ spoke

A vew kind words to all the vo'k, few

Vor good or joke, an’ wi’ a smile

Begun a-plaÿèn wi’ a chile.

The zull, wi’ iron zide awry, plough

Had long a-vurrow'd up the vield;

The heavy roller had a-wheel'd

It smooth vor showers vrom the sky;

The bird-bwoy's cry, a-risèn sh'ill, shrilly

An’ clacker, had a-left the hill,

All bright but still, vor time alwone

To speed the work that we'd a-done. bring to fruition

Down drough the wind, a-blowèn keen, through

Did gleäre the nearly cloudless sky,

An’ corn in bleäde, up ancle-high,

'Ithin the geäte did quiver green;

An’ in the geäte a-lock'd there stood

A prickly row o’ thornèn wood

Vor vo'k vor food had done their best, folk

An’ left to Spring to do the rest.

“The geäte,” he cried, ―a-seal'd wi’ thorn

Vrom harmvul veet's a-left to hold

The bleäde a-springèn vrom the mwold, earth

While God do ripen it to corn.

An’ zoo in life let us vulvil so

Whatever is our Meäker's will,

An’ then bide still, wi’ peacevul breast,

While He do manage all the rest.”