That Drabbled Brat.

Goa hooam, - tha little drabbled brat,     Tha'll get thi deeath o' cold;     Whear does ta live? Just tell me that,     Befooar aw start to scold.     Thart sypin weet, - dooant come near me!     Tha luks hawf pined to deeath;     An what a cough tha has! dear me!     It ommost taks thi breeath.     Them een's too big for thy wee face, -     Thi curls are sad neglected;     Poor child! thine seems a woeful case,     Noa wonder tha'rt dejected.     Nah, can't ta tell me who tha art?     Tha needn't think aw'll harm thi;     Here, tak this sixpence for a start,     An find some place to warm thi.     Tha connot spaik; - thi een poor thing,     Are filled wi' tears already;     Tha connot even start to sing,     Thi voice is soa unsteady.     It isn't long tha'll ha to rooam,     An sing thi simple ditty;     Tha doesn't seem to be at hooam,     I' this big bustlin city.     It's hard to tell what's best to be     When seets are soa distressin;     For to sich helpless bairns as thee,     Deeath seems to be a blessin.     Some hear thi voice an pass thi by,     An feel noa touch o' sorrow;     An, maybe, them at heave a sigh,     Laff it away to-morrow.     For tha may sing, or sigh, or cry;     Nay, - tha may dee if needs be;     An th' busy craads 'at hurries by,     Streeams on an nivver heeds thee.     But ther is One, hears ivvery grooan,     We needn't to remind Him;     An He'll net leeav thi all alooan;     God give thee grace to find Him!     An may be send His angels daan,     Thi feet throo dangers guidin;     Until He sets thee in His craan, -     A gem, in light abidin.