Ah! ev'ry day mid bring a while
O' eaese vrom all woone's ceaere an' tweil,
The welcome evenen, when 'tis sweet
Vor tired friends wi' weary veet,
But litsome hearts o' love, to meet;
An' yet while weekly times do roll,
The best vor body an' vor soul
'S the church an' happy Zunday.
Vor then our loosen'd souls do rise
Wi' holy thoughts beyond the skies,
As we do think o' Him that shed
His blood vor us, an' still do spread
His love upon the live an' dead;
An' how He gi'ed a time an' pleaece
To gather us, an' gi'e us greaece,—
The church an' happy Zunday.
There, under leaenen mossy stwones,
Do lie, vorgot, our fathers' bwones,
That trod this groun' vor years agoo,
When things that now be wold wer new;
An' comely maidens, mild an' true,
That meaede their sweet-hearts happy brides,
An' come to kneel down at their zides
At church o' happy Zundays.
'Tis good to zee woone's naighbours come
Out drough the churchyard, vlocken hwome,
As woone do nod, an' woone do smile,
An' woone do toss another's chile;
An' zome be sheaeken han's, the while
Poll's uncle, chucken her below
Her chin, do tell her she do grow,
At church o' happy Zundays.
Zoo while our blood do run in vains
O' liven souls in theaesum plains,
Mid happy housen smoky round
The church an' holy bit o' ground;
An' while their wedden bells do sound,
Oh! mid em have the meaens o' greaece,
The holy day an' holy pleaece,
The church an' happy Zunday.