When weakness now do strive wi' might
In struggles ov an e'thly trial,
Might mid overcome the right,
An' truth be turn'd by might's denial;
Withstanders we ha' mwost to feaer,
If selfishness do wring us here,
Be souls a-holden in their hand,
The might an' riches o' the land.
But when the wicked, now so strong,
Shall stan' vor judgment, peaele as ashes,
By the souls that rued their wrong,
Wi' tears a-hangen on their lashes—
Then withstanders they shall deaere
The leaest ov all to meet wi' there,
Mid be the helpless souls that now
Below their wrongvul might mid bow.
Sweet childern o' the dead, bereft
Ov all their goods by guile an' forgen;
Souls o' driven sleaeves that left
Their weaery limbs a-mark'd by scourgen;
They that God ha' call'd to die
Vor truth ageaen the worold's lie,
An' they that groan'd an' cried in vain,
A-bound by foes' unrighteous chain.
The maid that selfish craft led on
To sin, an' left wi' hope a-blighted;
Starven workmen, thin an' wan,
Wi' hopeless leaebour ill requited;
Souls a-wrong'd, an' call'd to vill
Wi' dread, the men that us'd em ill.
When might shall yield to right as pliant
As a dwarf avore a giant.
When there, at last, the good shall glow
In starbright bodies lik' their Seaeviour,
Vor all their flesh noo mwore mid show,
The marks o' man's unkind beheaeviour:
Wi' speechless tongue, an' burnen cheak,
The strong shall bow avore the weaek,
An' vind that helplessness, wi' right,
Is strong beyond all e'thly might.