by William Barnes

William Barnes

By time's a-brought the mornèn light,
By time the light do weäne;
By time's a-brought the young man's might,
By time his might do weäne;
The Winter snow do whitèn grass,
The zummer flow'rs do brightèn grass,
Vor zome things we do lose wi' païn,
We've mwore that mid be jaÿ to gaïn,
An' my dear life do seem the seäme
While at my zide
There still do bide
Your welcome feäce an' hwomely neäme.
Wï' ev'ry day that woonce come on
I had to choose a jaÿ,
Wi' many that be since a-gone
I had to lose a jaÿ.
Drough longsome years a-wanderèn,
Drough lwonesome rest a-ponderèn,
Woone peaceful daytime wer a-bro't
To heal the heart another smote;
But my dear life do seem the seäme
While I can hear,
A-soundèn near,
Your answ'rèn vaïce an' long-call'd neäme.
An' oh! that hope, when life do dawn,
Should rise to light our waÿ,
An' then, wi' weänèn het withdrawn,
Should soon benight our waÿ.
Whatever mid beval me still,
Wherever chance mid call me still,
Though leäte my evenèn tweil mid cease,
An' though my night mid lose its peace,
My life will seem to me the seäme
While you do sheäre
My daily ceäre,
An' answer to your long-call'd neäme.

Last updated January 14, 2019