TH CRICKET ON TH HEARTH. SING on, merry cricket, sing on! — Thi songs ever welcome to me; Thers nowt aw like better, when o mi warks done, Nor sittin an hearknin to thee. Tha helps to cheer up mi iireside, As tha chirrups awav i thi mirth; An mi heart feels a comfort at meks sorrow glide, As aw list to thi music on th hearth. Thart t minstrel o th cottagers whoam, An thi presence oft brings gladness theer; A chap at likes harmonys no need to roam, If theaw should be onywheer near: Thart full ont — as full as con be — An tha adds to his pleasure an mirth; For what con be sweeter nor thy melody As tha sings blithe an gaily on th hearth? Sometimes, when aw sit sad an lone, An brood oer this life an its cares; Aw start up to find at mi troubles are flown, An mi burden grown leet unawares. For while awve bin hearin thee sing, Fresh fancies hev sprung into birth; Mi hopes hev gone breeter — mi fears tekken wing, Wi hevin thy music on th hearth. Its strange when aw list to thi lay, Heaw visions o childhood appear; For mi thowts journey back to a long vanished day, When lifes sky wur sunny an clear. Oh! then aw wur shielded fro care, An mi young heart beeat happy wi mirth; An oft did aw wonder whatever tha wur, As tha merrily chirruped on th hearth. When t cowd days o winter come on, An t winds whistle wildly an free; An o t feathered songsters to fresh climes hev gone, We con allus rely upo thee. For its then at theavv sings at thi best, Creatin good feelin an mirth; Contentment an joy rules i mony a breast, Wi t comfort tha brings em on th hearth. Then sing on, blithe cricket, sing on!— Thart welcome to mooar beside me; When false friends forsake us, were not quite alone, For we hev a companion i thee. Thart t minstrel o t cottagers whoam, An to pleasure tha often gives birth; A chap at likes music hes no need to roam, When t cricket sings gaily on th hearth.
Posted on: Wed, 06 Nov 2013 20:49:59 +0000
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