As I wer readen ov a stwone
In Grenley church-yard all alwone,
A little maïd ran up, wi' pride
To zee me there, an' pushed a-zide
A bunch o' bennets that did hide
—A verse her father, as she zaïd,
—Put up above her mother's head,
——To tell how much he loved her.

The verse wer short, but very good,
I stood an' larned ndash where I stood:—
“Mid God, dear Meäry, gi'e me greäce,
To vind, lik' thee, a better pleäce,
Where I woonce mwore mid zee they feäce:
—An' bring thy children up to know
—His word, that they mid come an' show
——Thy soul how much I loved thee.”

“Where's father, then,” I zaid, “my chile?”
“Dead too,” she answered wi' a smile;
“An' I an' brother Jim do bide
At Betty White's, o' t'other side
O' road.” “Mid He, my chile,” I cried,
—“That's father to the fatherless,
—Become thy father now, an' bless,
——An' keep, an' leäd, an' love thee.”

Though she've a-lost, I thought, so much,
Still He don't let the thoughts o't touch
Her litsome heart by day or night;
An' zoo, if we could teäke it right,
Do show He'll meäke His burdens light
—To weaker souls, an' that His smile
—Is sweet upon a harmless chile,
——When they be dead that loved it.