It's a sad state o' things when a man
Connot put ony faith in his brother,
An' fancies he'll chait if he can,
An' rejoice ovver th' fall ov another.

An' it's sad when yo see some 'at stand
High in social position an' power,
To know at ther fortuns wor plann'd
An' built, aght o'th' wrecks o' those lower.

It's sad to see luxury rife,
An' fortuns being thowtlessly wasted;
While others are wearin' aat life,
With the furst drops o' pleasure untasted.

Some in carriages rollin' away,
To a ball, or a rout, or a revel;
But their chariots may bear 'em some day
Varry near to the gates ov the devil.

Oh! charity surely is rare,
Or ther'd net be soa monny neglected;
For ther's lots wi enuff an' to spare,
An' from them varry mich is expected.

An' tho' in this world they've ther fill
Of its pleasures, an' wilfully blinded,
Let deeath come--as surely it will--
They'll be then ov ther duties reminded.