They say, "Who giveth to the poor,
Lends to the Lord," but yet,
They all seem varry anxious,
Net to get the Lord in debt.

But wi my fooilish nooations
Mayhap yo'll net agree,--
Its like enuff 'at awm mistaen,--
But it seems that way to me.

If yo hear a clivver sarmon,
Yor attention it command's,
If yo know at th' praicher's heart's as white
As what he keeps his hands.

Ther's too mich love ov worldly ways,
An too mich affectation;
They work i'th' vinyard a few days,
Then hint abaat vacation.

He has to have a holiday
Because he's worked soa hard;--
Well, aw allus think 'at labor
Is desarvin ov reward.

What matters, tho' his little flock
A shepherd's care is wantin:
Old Nick may have his run o'th' fold
Wol he's off galavantin.