Good Meaester Collins! aye, how mild he spoke
Woone day o' Mercy to zome cruel vo'k.
"No, no. Have Mercy on a helpless head,
An' don't be cruel to a zoul," he zaid.
"When Babylon's king woonce cast 'ithin
The viery furnace, in his spite,
The vetter'd souls whose only sin
Wer prayer to the God o' might,
He vound a fourth, 'ithout a neaeme,
A-walken wi' em in the fleaeme.
An' zoo, whenever we mid hurt,
Vrom spite, or vrom disdain,
A brother's soul, or meaeke en smert
Wi' keen an' needless pain,
Another that we midden know
Is always wi' en in his woe.
Vor you do know our Lord ha' cried,
"By faith my bretheren do bide
In me the liven vine,
As branches in a liven tree;
Whatever you've a-done to mine
Is all a-done to me.
Oh! when the new-born child, the e'th's new guest,
Do lie an' heave his little breast,
In pillow'd sleep, wi' sweetest breath
O' sinless days drough rwosy lips a-drawn;
Then, if a han' can smite en in his dawn
O' life to darksome death,
Oh! where can Pity ever vwold
Her wings o' swiftness vrom their holy flight,
To leaeve a heart o' flesh an' blood so cwold
At such a touchen zight?
An' zoo mid meek-soul'd Pity still
Be zent to check our evil will,
An' keep the helpless soul from woe,
An' hold the hardened heart vrom sin.
Vor they that can but mercy show
Shall all their Father's mercy win."