AN’ while I zot, wi’ thoughtvul mind, sat

Up where the lwonesome Coombs do wind,

An’ watch'd the little gully slide

So crookèd to the river-zide;

I thought how wrong the Stour did zeem

To roll along his ramblèn stream,

A-runnèn wide the left o’ south,

To vind his mouth, the right-hand zide.

But though his stream do teäke, at mill,

An’ eastward bend by Newton Hill,

An’ goo to lay his welcome boon

O’ daïly water round Hammoon,

An’ then wind off ageän, to run

By Blanvord, to the noonday zun,

'Tis only bound by woone rule all,

An’ that's to vall down steepest ground.

An’ zoo, I thought, as we do bend so

Our waÿ drough life, to reach our end, through

Our God ha’ gi'ed us, vrom our youth, given

Woone rule to be our guide—His truth.

An’ zoo wi’ that, though we mid teäke may

Wide rambles vor our callèns’ seäke,

What is, is best, we needen fear,

An’ we shall steer to happy rest.