In zummer, when the sheädes do creep
Below the Zunday steeple, round
The mossy stwones, that love cut deep
Wi' neämes that tongues noo mwore do sound,
The leäne do lose the stalkèn team,
An' dry-rimm'd waggon-wheels be still,
An' hills do roll their down-shot stream
Below the restèn wheel at mill.
O holy day, when tweil do ceäse,
Sweet day o' rest an' greäce an' peäce!
The eegrass, vor a while unwrung
By hoof or shoe, 's a sheenèn bright,
An' clover flowers be a-sprung
On new-mow'd knaps in beds o' white,
An' sweet wild rwoses, up among
The hedge-row boughs, do yield their smells.
To aïer that do bear along
The loud-rung peals o' Zunday bells,
Upon the day o' days the best,
The day o' greäce an' peäce an' rest.
By brightshod veet, in peäir an' peäir,
Wi' comely steps the road's a-took
To church, an' work-free han's do beär
Woone's walkèn stick or sister's book;
An' there the bloomèn niece do come
To zee her aunt, in all her best;
Or married daughter do bring hwome
Her vu'st sweet child upon her breast,
As she do seek the holy pleäce,
The day o' rest an' peäce an' greäce.