Till at last aw'd to shift th' cheer further back
for aw couldn't bide near it.

Th' dull saand o' th' church bells
coom to tell me one moor Christmas mornin',
Had come, for its welcome--
but ha could aw welcome it when all aloan?
For th' snow wor fallin soa thickly,
an' th' cold wind wor moanin,
An' them 'at aw lov'd wor asleep
i' that cold church yard, under a stoan:

Soa aw went to bed an' aw slept,
an' then began dreamin,
'At mi wife stood by mi side, an' smiled,
an' mi heart left off its beatin',
An' aw put aat mi hand, an' awoke,
an' mornin' wor gleamin';
An' its made me feel sorrowful,
an aw cannot give ovver freatin.

For aw think what a glorious Christmas day
'twod ha' been,
If awd goan to that place, where ther's noa moor cares,
nor partin', nor sorrow,
For aw know shoo's thear,
or that dream aw sud nivver ha' seen,
But aw'll try to be patient,
an' maybe shoo'll come fotch me to-morrow.

It's forty' long summers an' winters,
sin tha bade "gooid bye,"
An' as fine a young fella tha wor,
as iver aw met i' mi life;
When tha went to some far away land,
thi fortune to try,
An' aw stopt at hooam to toil on,
becoss it wor th' wish o' my wife.

An' shoo wor a bonny young wench,
an' better nor bonny,--
Aw seem nah as if aw can see her,
wi' th' first little bairn on her knee,
An' we called it Ann,
for aw liked that name best ov ony,
An' fowk said it wor th' pictur o' th' mother,
wi' just a strinklin o' me.

An' th' next wor a lad, an' th' next wor a lad!
then a lass came,--
That made us caant six,--
an' six happier fowk niver sat to a meal,
An' they grew like hop plants--full o' life--
but waikly i' th' frame,
An' at last one drooped,
an' Deeath coom an' marked her with his seal.

A year or two moor
an' another seemed longin to goa,
An' all we could do wor to smooth his deeath bed,
'at he might sleep sweeter--
Then th' third seemed to sicken an' pine,
an' we couldn't say "noa,"
For he said his sister had called,
an' he wor most anxious to meet her--

An' how we watched th' youngest,
noa mortal can tell but misen,
For we prized it moor,
becoss it wor th' only one left us to cherish;
At last her call came,
an' shoo luked sich a luk at us then,
Which aw