A Safe Investment.

Yo fowk 'at's some brass to invest,     Luk sharp an mak th' best ov yor chonce!     Aw'll gie yo a tip, - one o'th' best,     Whear ther's profit an safety for once.     Yo needn't be feeard th' bank 'll brust,     Or at onny false 'Jabez' will chait, -     Depend on't its one yo can trust,     For th' balance sheet's sewer to be reight.     Yo've heeard on it oftimes befooar, -     But mooast fowk are apt to forget; -     Yet yo know if yo give to the poor,     At yo're gettin the Lord i' yor debt.     Its as plain as is th' nooas o' yor face,     An its true too, - believe it or net, -     It's a bargain God made i' this case,     An He'll nivver back aght on't, - yo bet.     All th' wealth yo may have can't prevent     Grim Deeath commin to yo some day;     An yo'll have to give up ivvery cent,     When yor time comes for gooin away.     But yo'll dee wi' a leetsomer heart,     An for what yo leeav care net a straw,     Earth's losses will cause yo noa smart,     If i' Heaven yo've summat to draw.     Its useless to pray an to praich, -     Yo can't fill fowk's bellies wi' wynd;     Put summat to ait i' ther raich,     An then lectur em all yo've a mind;     Ther's poor folk on ivvery hand,     Yo can't shut yor ears to ther cry; -     A wail ov woe's sweepin throo th' land,     Which may turn to a rooar by-an-bye.     Yo can't expect chaps who have wives,     An childer at's clammin i'th' cold,     To be patient an quiet all ther lives,     When they see others rollin i' gold.     When th' workers are beggin for jobs,     An th' helpless are starvin to deeath,     It's just abaat time some o'th' nobs     Wor reminded they dooant own all th' eearth.     If ther duties they still will neglect,     An ther pomps an ther pleasurs pursue,     They may find when they little expect,     'At they've getten thersen in a stew.     Yo may trample a worm wol it turns, -     An ther's danger i' starvin a rat; -     A man's passion inflamed wol it burns,     Is a danger mooar fearful nor that.     But why should ther be sich distress,     When ther's plenty for all an to spare?     Sewerly them at luck's blest can't do less     Nor to help starvin fowk wi' a share.     Rich harvests yo'll win from the seed     When theas welcome words fall on yor ear, -     "What yo did to th' leeast brother i' need,     Yo did unto Me; - Come in here."