IN zummer, when the sheädes do creep shadows

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, toil

Sweet day o’ rest an’ greäce an’ peäce!

The eegrass, vor a while unwrung grass regrown after mowing

By hoof or shoe, 's a sheenèn bright, shining

An’ clover flowers be a-sprung

On new-mow'd knaps in beds o’ white, hillocks

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; one's

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, first

As she do seek the holy pleäce,

The day o’ rest an’ peäce an’ greäce.