Avore the time when zuns went down
On zummer's green a-turn'd to brown,
When sheaedes o' swayen wheat-eaers vell
Upon the scarlet pimpernel;
The while you still mid goo, an' vind
'Ithin the geaerden's mossy wall,
Sweet blossoms, low or risen tall,
To meaeke a tutty to your mind,
In churchyard heav'd, wi' grassy breast,
The greaeve-mound ov a beaeby's rest.
An' when a high day broke, to call
A throng 'ithin the churchyard wall,
The mother brought, wi' thoughtvul mind,
The feaeirest buds her eyes could vind,
To trim the little greaeve, an' show
To other souls her love an' loss,
An' meaede a Seaevior's little cross
O' brightest flow'rs that then did blow,
A-droppen tears a-sheenen bright,
Among the dew, in mornen light
An' woone sweet bud her han' did pleaece
Up where did droop the Seaevior's feaece;
An' two she zet a-bloomen bright,
Where reach'd His hands o' left an' right;
Two mwore feaeir blossoms, crimson dyed,
Did mark the pleaeces ov his veet,
An' woone did lie, a-smellen sweet,
Up where the spear did wound the zide
Ov Him that is the life ov all
Greaeve sleepers, whether big or small.
The mother that in faith could zee
The Seaevior on the high cross tree
Mid be a-vound a-grieven sore,
But not to grieve vor evermwore,
Vor He shall show her faithvul mind,
His chaice is all that she should choose,
An' love that here do grieve to lose,
Shall be, above, a jay to vind,
Wi' Him that evermwore shall keep
The souls that He do lay asleep.