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 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
But others seen it—what? the gels?
Seen it of coorse—my gough! who else!
Likewise the boys—of an evenin' theer
At home you know—and the Book, and the cheer —
And—“Aw!” he'd say, “the power of grace!”
And put a finger in the place,
And his other hand on Nelly's head—
“The power of grace! of grace!” he said;
And pattin' theer, and the big smooth smile,
And—“The Lord is daelin' with this child.”
“Oh!” he says, “it's grace that's in,”
And the hand goin' sliddherin' under her chin.
And then he'd be readin' all the chapters
That's talkin' of love—“Oh!” he'd say, “the rapthurs!
The puffick joy! And lizzen to this!
Greet one another with a holy kiss!
See!” he'd say, “my childrin, see
The joy of Christian liberty!
If it hadn' been for the unrighteous leaven,
See what kisses we'd be hevvin'!”
“Dear me!” he'd say, “if you were all God's sons
And daughters, we might begin at once”;
And dhrops the book, and sticks his thumb in
His oxther, and gives a surt of a hummin',
And lookin' the way you could aisy tell he
'd like uncommon to begin with Nelly.
Seen it of coorse—my gough! who else!
Likewise the boys—of an evenin' theer
At home you know—and the Book, and the cheer —
And—“Aw!” he'd say, “the power of grace!”
And put a finger in the place,
And his other hand on Nelly's head—
“The power of grace! of grace!” he said;
And pattin' theer, and the big smooth smile,
And—“The Lord is daelin' with this child.”
“Oh!” he says, “it's grace that's in,”
And the hand goin' sliddherin' under her chin.
And then he'd be readin' all the chapters
That's talkin' of love—“Oh!” he'd say, “the rapthurs!
The puffick joy! And lizzen to this!
Greet one another with a holy kiss!
See!” he'd say, “my childrin, see
The joy of Christian liberty!
If it hadn' been for the unrighteous leaven,
See what kisses we'd be hevvin'!”
“Dear me!” he'd say, “if you were all God's sons
And daughters, we might begin at once”;
And dhrops the book, and sticks his thumb in
His oxther, and gives a surt of a hummin',
And lookin' the way you could aisy tell he
'd like uncommon to begin with Nelly.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |