The church do zeem a touchen zight,
When vo'k, a-comen in at door,
Do softly tread the long-ail'd vloor
Below the pillar'd arches' height,
Wi' bells a-pealen,
Vo'k a-kneelen,
Hearts a-healen, wi' the love
An' peaece a-zent em vrom above.
An' there, wi' mild an' thoughtvul feaece,
Wi' downcast eyes, an' vaices dum',
The wold an' young do slowly come,
An' teaeke in stillness each his pleaece,
A-zinken slowly,
Kneelen lowly,
Seeken holy thoughts alwone,
In pray'r avore their Meaeker's throne.
An' there be sons in youthvul pride,
An' fathers weak wi' years an' pain,
An' daughters in their mother's train.
The tall wi' smaller at their zide;
Heads in murnen
Never turnen,
Cheaeks a-burnen, wi' the het
O' youth, an' eyes noo tears do wet.
There friends do settle, zide by zide,
The knower speechless to the known;
Their vaice is there vor God alwone
To flesh an' blood their tongues be tied.
Grief a-wringen,
Jay a-zingen,
Pray'r a-bringen welcome rest
So softly to the troubled breast.