Tho' wealth aw acknowledge is useful,
An' awve oft felt a want on't misen,
Yet th' world withaat brass could keep movin,
But it wodn't do long withaat men.
One truth they may put i' ther meersham,
An' smoke it--that is if they can;
A man may mak hooshuns o' riches,
But riches can ne'er mak a man.
Then give me that honest hard worker,
'At labors throo marnin to neet,
Tho' his rest may be little an' seldom,
Yet th' little he gets he finds sweet.
He may rank wi' his wealthier brother,
An' rank heigher, aw fancy, nor some;
For a hand 'at's weel hoofed wi' hard labor
Is a passport to th' world 'at's to come.
For we know it's a sin to be idle,
As man's days i' this world are but few;
Then let's all wi' awr lot 'be contented,
An' continue to toil an' to tew.
For ther's one thing we all may be sure on,
If we each do awr best wol we're here,
'At when, th' time comes for reckonin, we're called on,
We shall have varry little to fear.
An' at last, when, we throw daan awr tackle,
An' are biddin farewell to life's stage,
May we hear a voice whisper at partin,
"Come on, lad! Tha's haddled thi wage;"
Niver Heed.
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