come,
   Tho' it may seem tardy,—
Thine's a better fate nor some:
If tha's but a humble home,
   Yet thart strong an hardy;
Then cheer up an ne'er repine,
Be content, an bide thi time.

Bide thi time! if fortun's blind,
   Rail not at her givin;
If tha thinks shoo's ovver kind
To thi neighbor, nivver mind,
   If tha gets a livin;
Woll thi life is in its prime,
Be content, an bide thi time.

Bide thi time! for ther's a endin
   To a loin, haivver long:
Things at th' warst mun start o' mendin;
Ther's noa wind but what's befriendin
   One or other, tho' its strong:
Remember, poverty's noa crime—
Be content, an bide thi time.

Bide thi time! tho none are near thee
   To stretch out a helpin hand;
Let noa darken'd prospect fear thee,
Ther's a promise yet should cheer thee
   As tha nears a breeter land:
Tho thi rooad is hard to climb,
Be content, an bide thi time.

Bide thi time! "I will not leave thee
   Nor forsake thee," He hath said.
Let not worldly smiles deceive thee,
Trust in Him—He will relieve thee—
   He that gives thy daily bread:
Fill'd with faith and love sublime,
Still contented, bide thi time.

A Cold Dooas.

One neet aw went hooam, what time aw can't tell,
But it must ha been lat, for awd th' street to mysel.
Furst one clock, then t'other, kept ringin aght chimes,
Aw wor gaumless, a chap will get gaumless sometimes.
Thinks aw—tha'll drop in for't to-neet lad, tha will!
But aw oppen'd th' haase door an aw heeard all wor still;
Soa aw ventured o' tip toe to creep up to bed,
Thinkin th' less aw disturbed her an th' less wod be sed.
When awd just getten ready to bob under th' clooas,
Aw bethowt me aw hadn't barred th' gate an lockt th' doors;
Soa daan stairs aw crept ommost holdin mi breeath,
An ivverything raand mi wor silent as deeath.
When aw stept aght oth door summat must ha been wrang,
For it shut ov itsen wi a terrible bang;
It wor lucky aw cleared it withaat gettin hurt,
But still, aw wor lockt aght o' door i' mi shirt.
Thinks aw its noa use to be feared ov a din,
Awst be foorced to rouse Betty to let me get in.
An to mend matters snow wor beginnin to fall,
An a linen shirt makes but a poor overall.
Aw knockt at first pratly, for fear ov a row,
But her snooarin aw heeard plain enuff daan below.
Mi flesh wor i' gooise-lumps, mi feet wor like ice,
To be frozzen to deeath, thinks aw, willn't be nice;
Soa as knockin wor useless aw started to bray,
Till at last one oth pannels began to give way.
All th' neighbors ther heeads aght oth windows did pop,
But aw couldn't wake Betty, shoo slept like a top.
At last a poleeceman coom raand wi his lamp,
An he spied mi an thowt mi some murderin scamp;
Aw tried to explain, but he wodn't give heed,
For he wanted a job like all th' rest ov his breed.
He tuk me to th' lock-up, an thear made a charge,
At aw wor a lunatic rooamin at large.
In a cell aw wor put, whear aw fan other three,
'Twor a small cell for four, but a big sell for me;
An shiv'rin an shudd'rin an pairt druffen sick,
That neet seem'd to me twice as long as a wick.
Next mornin they dragg'd me to th' cooart-haase to tell
What it meant, an to give an accaant o' misel;
An they fined me five shillin, but ha could aw pay,
When mi brass wor ith pockets oth clooas far away?
Then they sent Betty word, an shoo coom, for it seems
Shoo wor up i' gooid time, for shoo'd had ugly dreeams;
An shoo browt me mi clooas, an shoo set me all streight,
But her pity wor nobbut, "It just sarves thee reight."
Sin then yo've noa nooation what awve to endure,
For aw gate sich a cold 'at noa phisic can cure;
An if aw complain Betty says i' quicksticks,
"Tha sees what tha gets wi thi wrang-headed tricks."
Soa aw grin an aw bide it as weel as aw can,
But awve altered mi tactics, an nah it's mi plan
If mi mates ivver tempt me an get me to rooam,
Aw sup pop when awm aght an sup whisky at hooam.
An Betty declares it's been all for mi gooid,
For awd long wanted summat to cooil mi young blooid;
But this lesson it towt me awl freely confess,—
To mak sewer th' gate's made fast befoor aw undress.

A Jolly Beggar.

Aw'm as rich as a Jew, tho aw havn't a meg,
But awm free as a burd, an aw shak a loise leg;
Aw've noa haase, an noa barns, soa aw nivver pay rent,
But still aw feel rich, for awm bless'd wi content,
      Aw live, an awm jolly,
      An if it is folly,
Let others be wise, but aw'l follow mi bent.

Mi kitchen aw find amang th' rocks up oth moor,
An at neet under th' edge ov a haystack aw snoor,
An a wide spreeadin branch keeps th' cold rain off mi nop,
Wol aw listen to th' stormcock at pipes up oth top;
      Aw live, an awm jolly, &c.

Aw nivver fear thieves, for aw've nowt they can tak,
Unless it's thease tatters at hing o' mi back;
An if they prig them, they'll get suck'd do yo see,
They'll be noa use to them, for they're little to me.
      Aw live, an awm jolly, &c.

Fowk may turn up ther nooas as they pass me ith rooad
An get aght oth gate as if fear'd ov a tooad;
But aw laff i' mi sleeve, like a snail in its shell,
For th' less room they tak up, ther's all th' moor for misel.
      Aw live, an awm jolly, &c.

Tho philosiphers tawk, an church parsons may praich,
An tell us true joy is far aght ov us raich;
Yet aw nivver tak heed o' ther cant o' ther noise,
For he's nowt to be fear'd on at's nowt he can loise.
      Aw live, an awm jolly, &c.

Aw Wodn't for all aw Could See.

Why the dickens do some fowk keep thrustin,
   As if th' world hadn't raam for us all?
Wi consarn an consait they're fair brustin,
   One ud think th' heavens likely to fall.
They fidge an they fume an they flutter,
   Like a burd catched wi lime on a tree,
And they'll fratch wi ther own breead an butter:—
   But aw wodn't for all aw could see.

Bless mi life! th' world could get on withaat em!
   It ud have to do if they wor deead;
They may be sincere but aw daat em,
   If they're honest, they're wrang i' ther heead.
They've all some pet doctrine, an wonder
   Why fowk wi ther plans disagree,
They expect yo should all knuckle under,
   But aw wodn't for all aw could see.

My old woman may net be perfection,
   But we're wed soa we know we've to stick;
An if shoo made another selection,
   Aw mightn't be th' chap at shoo'd pick.
But we get on reight gradely together,
   An her failins aw try net to see,
Some will bend under th' weight ov a feather,
   But aw wodn't for all aw could see.

A chap at aits peaches and cherries,
   Mun expect to be bothered wi stooans;
An he's nobbut a fooil if he worries
   Coss yearins arnt made withaat booans.
To mak th' best o' things just as aw find em,
   Seems th' reight sooart o' wisdom to me;
An when things isn't reight aw neer