An' first of all tha mun knaw
'at aw havn't been spar'd,
For trials an' troubles have come,
an' mi heart has felt well nigh to braik;
An' mi wife, 'at tha knaws wor mi pride,
an' mi fortuns has shared,
Shoo bent under her griefs,
an' shoo's flown far, far away aat o' ther raik.
My life's like an owd gate
'ats nobbut one hinge for support,
An' sometimes aw wish--aw'm soa lonely--
at tother 'ud drop off wi' rust;
But it hasn't to be, for it seems
Life maks me his spooart,
An' Deeath cannot even spare time,
to turn sich an owd man into dust.
Last neet as aw sat an' watched th' yule log
awd put on to th' fire,
As it cracked, an' sparkled, an' flared
up wi' sich gusto an' spirit,
An' when it wor touch'd it shone breeter,
an' flared up still higher,
Till at last aw'd to shift th' cheer further back
for aw couldn't bide near it.
Th' dull saand o' th' church bells
coom to tell me one moor Christmas mornin',
Had come, for its welcome--
but ha could aw welcome it when all aloan?
For th' snow wor fallin soa thickly,
an' th' cold wind wor moanin,
An' them 'at aw lov'd wor asleep
i' that cold church yard, under a stoan:
Soa aw went to bed an' aw slept,
an' then began dreamin,
'At mi wife stood by mi side, an' smiled,
an' mi heart left off its beatin',
An' aw put aat mi hand, an' awoke,
an' mornin' wor gleamin';
An' its made me feel sorrowful,
an aw cannot give ovver freatin.
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