He leaves a track o' powder'd gowd(5)
To show where He has bin.

He's got big lamps an' laatle lamps,
An' lamps that twinkles red;
Im capped to see Him dout 'em all
Afore I'm back i' bed.
But He don't laik about His wark,
Or stop to hark to t' birds;
He minds His business, does the Lord,
An' wastes no gaumless words.

I grow more like Him ivery day,
For all I walk so lame;
An', happen, there will coom a time
I'll beat Him at His game.
Thrang as Throp's wife, I'll dout my lamps
Afore He's gotten so far;
An' then I'll shout--"I've won my race,
I've bet Him by a star."


1. Blow 2. Unsteady 3. Strange, eerie
4. Active 5. The Milky Way




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