In church at Grenley woone mid zee
A beam vrom wall to wall; a tree
That’s longer than the church is wide,
An’ zoo woone end o’n’s drough outside,—
Not cut off short, but bound all round
Wi’ lead, to keep en seaefe an’ sound.
Back when the builders vu’st begun
The church,—as still the teaele do run,—
A man work’d wi’ em; no man knew
Who 'twer, nor whither he did goo.
He wer as harmless as a chile,
An’ work’d 'ithout a frown or smile,
Till any woaths or strife did rise
To overcast his sparklen eyes:
An’ then he’d call their minds vrom strife,
To think upon another life.
He wer so strong, that all alwone
He lifted beams an’ blocks o’ stwone,
That others, with the girtest pains,
Could hardly wag wi’ bars an’ chains;
An’ yet he never used to stay
O’ Zaturdays, to teaeke his pay.
Woone day the men wer out o’ heart,
To have a beam a-cut too short;
An’ in the evenen, when they shut
Off work, they left en where 'twer put;
An’ while dumb night went softly by
Towards the vi’ry western sky,
A-lullen birds, an’ shutten up
The deaeisy an’ the butter cup,
They went to lay their heavy heads
An’ weary bwones upon their beds.
An’ when the dewy mornen broke,
An’ show’d the worold, fresh awoke,
Their godly work ageaen, they vound
The beam they left upon the ground
A-put in pleaece, where still do bide,
An’ long enough to reach outzide.
But he unknown to tother men
Wer never there at work ageaen:
Zoo whether he mid be a man
Or angel, wi’ a helpen han’,
Or whether all o’t wer a dream,
They didden deaere to cut the beam.
Other works by William Barnes...
