Уильям Барнс (William Barnes)

First Collection. Sundry Pieces. The Church an’ Happy Zunday

Ah! ev’ry day mid bring a while
O’ eäse vrom all woone’s ceäre an’ tweil,
The welcome evenèn, when ’tis sweet
Vor tired friends wi’ weary veet,
But litsome hearts o’ love, to meet;
An’ yet while weekly times do roll,
The best vor body an’ vor soul
 ’S the church an’ happy Zunday.

Vor then our loosen’d souls do rise
Wi’ holy thoughts beyond the skies,
As we do think o’ Him that shed
His blood vor us, an’ still do spread
His love upon the live an’ dead;
An’ how He gi’ed a time an’ pleäce
To gather us, an’ gi’e us greäce,—
 The church an’ happy Zunday.

There, under leänen mossy stwones,
Do lie, vorgot, our fathers’ bwones,
That trod this groun’ vor years agoo,
When things that now be wold wer new;
An’ comely maïdens, mild an’ true,
That meäde their sweet-hearts happy brides,
An’ come to kneel down at their zides
 At church o’ happy Zundays.

’Tis good to zee woone’s naïghbours come
Out drough the churchyard, vlockèn hwome,
As woone do nod, an’ woone do smile,
An’ woone do toss another’s chile;
An’ zome be sheäken han’s, the while
Poll’s uncle, chuckèn her below
Her chin, do tell her she do grow,
 At church o’ happy Zundays.

Zoo while our blood do run in vaïns
O’ livèn souls in theäsum plaïns,
Mid happy housen smoky round
The church an’ holy bit o’ ground;
An’ while their weddèn bells do sound,
Oh! mid em have the meäns o’ greäce,
The holy day an’ holy pleäce,
 The church an’ happy Zunday.

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