Mi Fayther's Pipe.

Aw've a treasure yo'd laff if yo saw,     But its mem'ries are dear to mi heart;     For aw've oft seen it stuck in a jaw,     Whear it seem'd to form ommost a part.     Its net worth a hawpny, aw know,     But its given mooar pleasure maybe,     Nor some things at mak far mooar show,     An yo can't guess its vally to me.     Mi fayther wor fond ov his pipe,     An this wor his favorite clay;     An if mi ideas wor ripe,     Awd enshrine it ith' folds ov a lay;     But words allus fail to express     What aw think when aw see its old face;     For aw know th' world holds one friend the less,     An mi hearth has one mooar vacant place.     Ov trubbles his life had its share,     But he kept all his griefs to hissen;     Tho aw've oft seen his brow knit wi care,     Wol he tried to crack jooaks nah an then.     But one comfort he'd ivver i' stooar,     An he'd creep to his favorite nook,     An seizin his old pipe once mooar,     All his trubbles would vanish i' smook.     If his fare should be roughish or scant,     He nivver repined at his lot;     He seem'd to have all he could want,     If he knew he'd some bacca ith' pot.     An he'd fill up this little black clay,     An as th' reek curled away o'er his heead,     Ivvery trace ov his sorrow gave way,     An a smile used to dwell thear asteead.     He grew waiker as years rolled along,     An his e'eseet an hearin gave way;     An his limbs at had once been soa strong,     Grew shakier day after day.     Yet his heart nivver seem'd to grow old,     Tho life's harvest had long been past ripe     For his ailments wor allus consoled,     When he'd getten a whiff ov his pipe,     Aw'll keep it as long as aw can,     For its all aw've been able to save,     To bind mi heart still to th' old man,     At's moulderin away in his grave.     He'd noa strikin virtues to booast,     Noa vices for th' world to condemn;     To be upright an honest an just,     In his lifetime he ne'er forgate them,     As a fayther, kind, patient and true,     His mem'ry will allus be dear;     For he acted soa far as he knew,     For th' best to all th' fowk he coom near.     An aw ne'er see this blackened old clay,     But aw find mi een dimmed wi a tear;     An aw ne'er put th' old relic away     But aw wish mi old fayther wor here.