In zummer, when the sheaedes do creep
Below the Zunday steeple, round
The mossy stwones, that love cut deep
Wi' neaemes that tongues noo mwore do sound,
The leaene do lose the stalken team,
An' dry-rimm'd waggon-wheels be still,
An' hills do roll their down-shot stream
Below the resten wheel at mill.
O holy day, when tweil do ceaese,
Sweet day o' rest an' greaece an' peaece!
The eegrass, vor a while unwrung
By hoof or shoe, 's a sheenen bright,
An' clover flowers be a-sprung
On new-mow'd knaps in beds o' white,
An' sweet wild rwoses, up among
The hedge-row boughs, do yield their smells.
To aier that do bear along
The loud-rung peals o' Zunday bells,
Upon the day o' days the best,
The day o' greaece an' peaece an' rest.
By brightshod veet, in peaeir an' peaeir,
Wi' comely steps the road's a-took
To church, an' work-free han's do beaer
Woone's walken stick or sister's book;
An' there the bloomen niece do come
To zee her aunt, in all her best;
Or married daughter do bring hwome
Her vu'st sweet child upon her breast,
As she do seek the holy pleaece,
The day o' rest an' peaece an' greaece.