Ah! Meaester Collins overtook
Our knot o' vo'k a-stannen still,
Last Zunday, up on Ivy Hill,
To zee how strong the corn did look.
An' he stay'd back awhile an' spoke
A vew kind words to all the vo'k,
Vor good or joke, an' wi' a smile
Begun a-playen wi' a chile.
The zull, wi' iron zide awry,
Had long a-vurrow'd up the vield;
The heavy roller had a-wheel'd
It smooth vor showers vrom the sky;
The bird-bwoy's cry, a-risen sh'ill,
An' clacker, had a-left the hill,
All bright but still, vor time alwone
To speed the work that we'd a-done.
Down drough the wind, a-blowen keen,
Did gleaere the nearly cloudless sky,
An' corn in bleaede, up ancle-high,
'lthin the geaete did quiver green;
An' in the geaete a-lock'd there stood
A prickly row o' thornen wood
Vor vo'k vor food had done their best,
An' left to Spring to do the rest.
"The geaete," he cried, "a-seal'd wi' thorn
Vrom harmvul veet's a-left to hold
The bleaede a-springen vrom the mwold,
While God do ripen it to corn.
An' zoo in life let us vulvil
Whatever is our Meaeker's will,
An' then bide still, wi' peacevul breast,
While He do manage all the rest."