ble In 90 Days Cover To Cover In 12 Pages A Da

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Bible In 90 Days Cover To Cover In
12 Pages A Day

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 Bible In 90 Days Cover To
Cover In 12 Pages A Day

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.
 Ge t e Jo e

“He taks delight i’ roving reawnd,

To nooks where trouble’s mostly feawnd;
He comes like rain to drufty greawnd,—
Gentle Jone!
He’s very slow at thinkin’ ill;
Forgi’s a faut wi’ hearty will;
An’ doin’ good’s his pastime still,—
Gentle Jone!

“At th’ time I broke this poor owd limb,

I should ha’ dee’d except for him.”
He said no moor; his e’en geet dim,—
Mine were th’ same.
“Owd lad,” said I, “Come, have a gill!”
“Naw, naw,” said he, “I’m rayther ill;
It’s time to paddle deawn this hill,
To th’ owd dame.”

’Twere nearly noon, i’th month o’ May;

We said we’d meet some other day;
An’ then th’ owd crayter limped away
Deawn th’ green lone.
An’ neaw, let’s do the thing that’s reet,
An’ then, when death puts eawt e’r leet,
We’s haply ston a chance to meet
Gentle Jone!
 NEET-FO’.
Old Air—“When Dolly and I get wed.”
 h’ wynt blows keen thro’ th’ shiverin’ thorn,
An’ th’ leet looks wild i’th sky;

Come, Tet, stir up that fire, an’ draw

That keyther gently by;
Aw’ve done my weshin’, gronny; an’
Aw’ve tidied every thing;
An’ neaw aw’ll sit me deawn to sew,
An’ hearken th’ kettle sing.

Bring in some coals; an’ shut that dur,—

It’s quite a wintry day;
Reitch deawn that ham; eawr Robin likes
A relish to his tay.
Sweep th’ grate, an’ set this table eawt;
Put th’ tay-pot upo’ th’ oon;
It’s gettin’ on for baggin’ time,
An’ he’ll be comin’ soon.

Th’ fire bruns clear; an’ th’ heawse begins,

A-lookin’ brisk an’ breet,
As th’ time draws near when he gets back,
Fro’ th’ teawn at th’ edge o’ neet;
It makes one hutch wi’ glee to yer
A favourite fuut come whoam;
An’ it’s very fine to hearken, when
One knows its sure to come

Th’ cat pricks up her ears at th’ sneck,

Wi’ mony a leetsome toot;
An’ th’ owd arm-cheer i’th corner seems,
As if it yerd his fuut;
Th’ window blinks; an’ th’ clock begins
A-tickin’ leawd an’ fain;
An’ th’ tin things winkin’ upo’ th’ wole,—
They groon as breet again.
 ey g oo as b eet aga

Th’ kettle’s hummin’ o’er wi’ fun—

Just look at th’ end o’th speawt;
It’s like some little sooty lad
At’s set his lips to sheawt.
Yon wayter-drops at fo’n fro’ th’ tap,
Are gettin’ wick wi’ glee;
An yo’re fain, gronny, too, aw know,—
But noan as fain as me.

Keep th’ rockers gooin’ soft an’ slow,

An’ shade that leet away;
Aw think this little duck’s o’th mend;
Hoo sleeps so weel to-day;
Doze on, my darlin’; keep ’em shut,—
Those teeny windows blue;
Good Lord! iv aught should happen thee,
What could thi mother do!

Here, gronny, put this cover on,

An’ tuck it nicely in;
Keep th’ keyther stirrin’ gently; an’
Make very little din.
An’ lap thoose dimpled honds away
Fro’ th’ frosty winter air;
They lie’n a-top o’ th’ bit o’ quilt,
Like two clock-hommers theer.

But stop; hoo’s laughin’! come, hie up;

My bonny little puss!
God bless it! Daddy’s noan far off;
Let mammy have a buss!
He’s here! He’s here! Tet, bring that cheer!
Eh, dear; these darlin’s two!
Iv it wur not for this chylt an’ him,
What could a body do!
AW’VE WORN MY BITS O’ SHOON
AWAY.
 w’ve worn my bits o’ shoon away,
Wi’ roving up an’ deawn,

To see yon moorlan’ valleys, an’

Yon little country teawn:
The dule tak shoon, and stockins too!
My heart feels warm an’ fain;
An’, if aw trudge it bar-fuut, lads,
Aw’ll see yon teawn again!

It’s what care I for cities grand,—

We never shall agree;
Aw’d rayther live where th’ layrock sings,—
A country teawn for me!
A country teawn, where one can meet
Wi’ friends, an’ neighbours known;
Where one can lounge i’th market-place,
An’ see the meadows mown.

Yon rollin’ hills are very fine,

At th’ end o’ sweet July;
Yon woodlan’ cloofs, an valleys green,—
The bonnist under th’ sky;
Yon dainty rindles, dancin’ deawn
Fro’ th’ meawntains into th’ plain;—
As soon as th’ new moon rises, lads,
Aw’m off to th’ moors again!

There’s jolly lads among yon hills,

An’ in yon country teawn;
They’n far moor sense than preawder folk,—
Aw’ll peawnd it for a creawn;
They’re wick an’ warm at wark an’ fun,
Wherever they may go,—
The primest breed o’ lads i’th world,—
Good luck attend ’em o’!
 Good uc atte d e o

Last neet aw laft the city thrung,

An’ climbed yon hillock green;
An’ sat me deawn to look at th’ hills,
Wi’ th’ wayter i’ my e’en;—
Wi’ th’ wayter wellin’ i’ my e’en;—
Aw’ll bundle up, an’ go,
An’ live an’ dee i’ my own countrie,
Where moorlan’ breezes blow!
YESTERNEET.
 geet up a-milkin’ this mornin’,—
I geet up afore it wur leet;

I ne’er slept a minute for thinkin’

What Robin said yesterneet;
I’ve brokken two basins i’th dairy;
I’ve scoaded my gronny wi’ tay;
It’s no use a tryin’ a-spinnin’—
My wheel’s eawt o’ trim to-day.

Chorus.
It’s oh, yon Robin, yon Robin;
His e’en ne’er twinkle’t so breet,
As they did when he meazur’t my finger
For th’ little gowd ring last neet.

Eawr Dorothy’s singin’ i’th shippon;

Eawr Jonathan’s leawngin’ i’th fowd;
Eawr Tummy’s at th’ fair, where he lippens
O’ swappin’ his cowt for gowd;
My gronny’s asleep wi’ her knittin’,
An’ th’ kittlin’s playin’ wi’ th’ yarn;
Eawr Betty’s gone eawt wi’ a gallon
To th’ chaps at their wark i’th barn.

Chorus—But oh, yon Robin, yon Robin.

Th’ lasses an’ lads are i’th meadow;

They’re gettin’ their baggin’ i’th hay;
I yer ’em as leetsome as layrocks,
I’th sky ov a shiny day;
But, little I care for their marlocks;
I dunnot want them for to see,
Though I’m fitter for cryin’ than laughin’,
There’s nob’dy as fain as me.
Chorus—For oh, yon Robin, yon Robin.

When I crept into th’ nook wi’ my sewin’,

My mother looked reawnd so sly;
Hoo know’d I could see across th’ coppice,
Where Robin comes ridin’ by;
Then hoo coom to me, smilin’ an’ tootin’,
An’ whisperin’, “Heaw doesto feel?
Dost think I should send for a doctor?”
But, th’ doctor hoo knows reet weel.

Chorus—It’s nought i’th world but Robin.

My feyther sits dozin’ i’th corner,

He’s dreamin’ o’th harvest day;
When Robin comes in for his daughter,
Eh, what’ll my feyther say?
Th’ rosebuds are peepin’ i’th garden;
An’ th’ blossom’s o’th apple tree;
Oh, heaw will life’s winter time find us,—
Yon Robin o’ mine, an’ me?

Chorus—For oh, yon Robin, yon Robin.

Then, hey for kisses an’ blushes,

An’ hurryin’ to an’ fro;
An’ hey for sly, sweet whispers,
That nob’dy but me mun know!
Then, hey for rings, an’ ribbins,
An’ bonnets, an’ posies fine!
An’ eh,—it’s o’ in a flutter,—
This little fond heart o’ mine!

Chorus.
For oh, yon Robin, yon Robin;
His e’en ne’er twinkle’t so breet,
As they did when he meazur’t my finger
For th’ little gowd ring last neet.
BONNY NAN.
 eigh, Ned, owd mon, aw feel as fain
As ony brid ’at sings i’ May;

Come, sit tho deawn, aw’ll spend a creawn,

We’n have a roozin’ rant to-day;
Let’s doance an’ sing; aw’ve bought a ring,
For bonny Nan i’th Owler dale;
Then heigh for fun; my mopin’s done!
An’ neaw aw’m brisk as bottle’t ale!
Oh, guess, owd brid,
What’s beawn to be;
For I like Nan,—
An’ hoo likes me!

Twelve months i’ weeds, when Robin deed,

Hoo look’d so deawn, wi’ ne’er a smile
Aw couldn’t find i’ heart or mind
To cheep o’ weddin’ for a while;
Aw thought aw’d bide; but still aw sighed
For th’ mournin’ cleawd to clear away;
Aw watched her e’en groo breet again,—
A layrock tootin’ eawt for day!
Neaw, guess, owd brid,
What’s beawn to be;
For I like Nan,—
An’ hoo likes me!

Oh, Nanny’s fair, an’ trim, an’ rare;

A modest lass, an’ sweet to see;
Her e’en are blue, her heart it’s true,—
But Nanny’s hardly twenty-three;
An’ life it’s strung, when folk are yung;
An’ waitin’ lunger wouldno do;
For, th’ moor-end lads, hoo turns their yeds,—
Hoo’s bin a widow lung enoo!
Then guess owd brid
 Then guess, owd brid,
What’s beawn to be;
For I like Nan,—
An’ hoo likes me!

Aw’ve sin, at neet, abeawt a leet,

A midge keep buzzin’ to an’ fro,
Then dart at th’ shine, ’at looked so fine,
An’ brun his wings at th’ end ov o’;
That midge’s me, it’s plain to see,
My wings are brunt, an’ yet aw’m fain,
For, wheer aw leet, aw find so sweet,
Aw’s never want to fly again.
Then guess, owd brid,
What’s beawn to be;
For I like Nan,—
An’ hoo likes me!
A LIFT ON THE WAY.
Air—“Come, sit down, my cronies.”
 ome, what’s th’ use o’ fratchin’, lads, this life’s noan so lung,
So, iv yo’n gether reawnd, aw’ll try my hond at a sung;

It may shew a guidin’ glimmer to some wand’rer astray,

Or, haply, gi’ some poor owd soul a lift on the way.
A lift on the way;
A lift on the way;
Or, haply, gi’ some poor owd soul a lift on the way.

Life’s road’s full o’ ruts; it’s very slutchy, an’ it’s dree;
An’ mony a worn-eawt limper lies him deawn there to dee;
Then, fleawnd’rin’ low i’th gutter, he looks reawnd wi’ dismay,
To see iv aught i’th world can give a lift on the way.
A lift on the way;
A lift on the way;
To see iv aught i’th world can give a lift on the way.

Oh, there’s some folk ’at mun trudge it, an’ there’s some folk ’at
may ride,
But, never mortal mon con tell what chance may betide;
To-day, he may be blossomin’, like roses i’ May;
To-morn, he may be beggin’ for a lift on the way.
A lift on the way;
A lift on the way;
To-morn, he may be beggin’ for a lift on the way.

Good-will, it’s a jewel, where there’s little else to spare;

An’ a mon may help another though his pouch may be bare;
A gen’rous heart, like sunshine, brings good cheer in its ray,
An’ a friendly word can sometimes give a lift on the way.
A lift on the way;
A lift on the way;
An’ a friendly word can sometimes give a lift on the way.
Like posies ’at are parchin’ in the midsummer sun,
There’s mony a poor heart faints afore the journey be run;
Then, lay the dust wi’ kindness, till the close of the day,
An’ gi’ these droopin’ travellers a lift on the way.
A lift on the way;
A lift on the way;
An’ gi’ these drooping travellers a lift on the way.

Oh, soft be his pillow, when he sinks deawn to his rest,

That can keep the lamp o’ charity alive in his breast;
May pleasant feelin’s haunt him as he’s dozin’ away,
An’ angels give him, up aboon, a lift on the way.
A lift on the way;
A lift on the way;
An’ angels give him, up aboon, a lift on the way.

Jog on, my noble comrades, then, an’ so mote it be,—

That hond in hond we travel till the day we mun dee;
An’ neaw, to end my ditty, lads, let’s heartily pray
That heaven may give us ev’ry one a lift on the way.
A lift on the way;
A lift on the way;
That heaven may give us ev’ry one a lift on the way.