His face wor varry thin an pale,
His een wor strangely breet;
His old rags flapt i'th' wintry gale,
An shooless wor his feet.
His teeth they chattered in his heead,
His hands had lost ther use,
He humbly begg'd a bite o' breead,
But nobbut gate abuse.
A curse wor tremblin on his tongue,
But with a mad despair,
He curbed it wi' an effort strong,
An changed it for a prayer.
"Oh, God!" he cried, "spare,—spare aw pray!
Have mercy an forgive;
Befooar too lat, show me some way
My wife an bairns can live!"
"Aw read i'th' papers ivvery day,
Ov hundreds,—thaasands spent
For shot an shell, an things to swell
This nation's armament.
Into fowk's hearts, oh, God! instil
A love ov peace, an then,
Maybe we'st have some better times,
An men can help thersen.
Aw nobbut want a chonce to live,
One cannot wish for less;
Wars fill this world wi' misery,—
Peace gives us happiness.
If monarchs dooant get quite as mich,
Ther joys need not decrease;—
Pray think o'th' poor as weel as th' rich;—
We've but one soul apiece."