An' while I zot, wi' thoughtvul mind,
Up where the lwonesome Coombs do wind,
An' watch'd the little gully slide
So crooked to the river-zide;
I thought how wrong the Stour did zeem
To roll along his ramblen stream,
A-runnen wide the left o' south,
To vind his mouth, the right-hand zide.
But though his stream do teaeke, at mill.
An' eastward bend by Newton Hill,
An' goo to lay his welcome boon
O' daily water round Hammoon,
An' then wind off ageaen, to run
By Blanvord, to the noonday zun,
'Tis only bound by woone rule all,
An' that's to vall down steepest ground.
An' zoo, I thought, as we do bend
Our way drough life, to reach our end,
Our God ha' gi'ed us, vrom our youth,
Woone rule to be our guide—His truth.
An' zoo wi' that, though we mid teaeke
Wide rambles vor our callens' seaeke,
What is, is best, we needen fear,
An' we shall steer to happy rest.