Third Collection. The Better vor zeèn o’ you
’Twer good what Meäster Collins spoke O’ spite to two poor spitevul vo’k. When woone twold tother o’ the two “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 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, Or cool the het ov anger’s tongue: Or bless, or help, or gi’e, or lend; Or to the friendless stand a friend, An’ zoo that all could tell en true, “I be never the better vor zeèn o’ you.” Oh! no, mid all o’s try to spend 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 striver’s weakness, Cheerèn hopeless grievers’ meekness, Meäkèn friends at every meetèn, Veel the happier vor their greetèn; Zoo that vew could tell us true, “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 dear’s the zun 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.”
William Barnes’s other poems:
